


well suited

by Magali_Dragon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, Daddy Rhaegar, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Growing Up, Minor Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, No Plot/Plotless, Not Serious, Sibling Rivalry, Targareyn family fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Young Love, as in Rhaegar is just thinking about them, because they are babies here, like legit babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24390913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: Rhaegar is sometimes weary of being king, but there are certain elements that remind him of the joy of it too— and also the trials of parenthood that rival the perils of ruling, as Lyanna and he witness through the years, particularly as it relates to Princess Daenerys and Prince Jon.  Toss in some Rhaenys and Aegon (aka Egg) all growing up at the same time and it is a story for the bards.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen
Comments: 566
Kudos: 865





	1. well suited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar gets a couple nighttime visitors while he is working and can't help but think how well they suit each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really, really wanted to see some baby Jon Snow with daddy Rhaegar fic but couldn't find any. So I wrote my own. Then baby Daenerys popped in. And pre-teen Viserys. And then this was the result.
> 
> It's all fluff. Just...just all fluff.

Rhaegar was exhausted, but that didn’t mean anything. He was the King, and the King didn’t get to sleep. It was a luxury he was not allowed, despite being surrounded by more luxuries than anyone could ever dream about. He pinched his nose between his index finger and thumb, his eyes itchy and his temples aching. He was not sure what time it was, probably not very late, as he had been up incredibly early for the journey from King’s Landing to Dragonstone. Then meetings with the vassals, he held court with the common folk of the island, and then there was a feast to entertain the Essosi nobles that had come over to discuss trade.

He had sparred a bit before dinner, to blow off steam, but even that had been tightly controlled and on schedule. Now, when he would have loved to have been curled up in his bed with a book or sitting before the fireplace with his harp, he was at his massive dragonglass desk, sifting through a mountainous pile of raven scrolls, weights of parchment, and tomes the size of his head, answering all the matters that he had not been able to attend to during the waking hours.

He tossed another book aside, closing his eyes and cracking his neck, moving his head from side to side on his shoulders. “What good are my advisors, honestly?” he mumbled. He leaned forward over the desk, picking up a set of papers documenting the limited grain stores in the North, to discuss with his good-brother tomorrow. He sighed, the figures already blurring. Talking accounts with Ned was just…he sighed, mumbling again, eyebrows lifting, making an uncharacteristic joke, even if he were the only one to hear it. “Riveting.”

The visit of his good-brother from the North the weeks leading up to the annual journey to Dragonstone for the next few months had been necessary; he was discussing his son’s future with his Northern relatives and also hearing from his Warden about the North’s many concerns from grain to the ships in White Harbor to the Night’s Watch begging for more supplies. The same requests, but as king he had to hear each one like it was new, pledging to listen and support.

He felt his heart clench a little, mind pushing out the necessity of figures on grain to the memory of Ned’s quiet insistence regarding what age his nephew should come to foster in Winterfell. Ned felt that five years was the correct time, but Rhaegar disagreed. He didn’t want to think about it. He tried to push it out again.

“Oop!”

The little sound from the front of his desk drew his head up. He frowned and leaned out of his chair, hands pressed to the cool stone and peered over. Surprised laughter escaped him at the sight.

It was a sound foreign to him sometimes; laughter. Just as smiling seemed to be a difficult thing most days. “What are you doing out of bed?” he called softly, seeing the small figure make his way from the front of the desk around to his side, toddling from side to side, using the desk for support as he dragged a ratty fur behind him, which only served to trip him up a bit. Rhaegar turned in his chair and knew he would not get an answer, even if the visitor were able to tell him.

Jon was three years of age and unlike his aunt—who shared a birthday almost a year to the day with him—he did not speak much, if at all. Dany could chatter your ear off if you let her, had not really stopped speaking since the moment she could talk. It reminded him of his first child, of Rhaenys. Gods, he missed her. He hadn’t seen her in months, she was in Dorne with Elia’s family. He missed Egg too; his son was a year older than Jon and for the same reasons, he was with Rhaenys.

Rhaegar’s advisers called it keeping relations good with their southern houses, but Rhaegar called it what it really was: _guilt._ He was guilty over what happened to his wife, over how he had treated her, and he could never take back what he did, so he allowed his children to spend as much time as the Martells wanted them to spend in Dorne. He barely had time to take care of his siblings, let alone his three children. They had wet nurses, septas, and other caretakers, but Elia would not want her children raised by a nurse, so he did as much as he could. Everyone spoke of how he was the good king, the just king, the calm dragon, the vanquisher of his evil mad father and the tyrant usurper Robert Baratheon, and yet none of the bards seemed to realize that his greatest challenge wasn’t keeping a kingdom together: it was essentially trying to rear five children.

Even if Viserys refused to admit he was a child, but being almost ten years, Rhaegar begged to disagree with him.

He reached down for his son, who was silent, his gray eyes deep and haunting. “Couldn’t sleep?” he murmured, setting Jon on his knee. He picked up the ratty fur, lifting to sniff it, smiling softly. It smelled like his mother’s favored blue winter roses, sweet and cool. He passed it to his son, who clutched it tight in his fist, while his other traveled up to his mouth, suckling on his thumb. “Ah,” he said, chastising gently, removing the thumb from Jon’s mouth. “No, no, no.”

“Hmm,” Jon protested, face scrunching up in displeasure. He tried again, but after another attempt of Rhaegar to set his thumb from his mouth, he gave him. Instead, he leaned hard on his chest, his dark curls tousled about his face. There was a red crease over his pink cheek, from his pillow. Gray eyes heavy with sleep, even if he seemed unable to do so.

Rhaegar smiled, cradling his son to his chest, nuzzling at his forehead. Jon yawned, making a tiny little sound, surprised at the force of it. “You want to stay with me, hmm?” he murmured, smoothing his hand down over to hold his son tighter against him. He moved to lean back in the chair, to hopefully allow his heartbeat to lull his son to sleep, but as he moved, he felt a tug on his boot. He glanced down, seeing the snow-white wolf pup chewing at the leather. He chuckled and Jon made a sound, leaning forward to try to pick up his pup. “Ah, you both were out for a bit of a nighttime stroll, yes?”

Ned had presented his nephew with the pup when he visited the previous month. He had found a direwolf—first one seen south of the Wall in a hundred years—dead in the Wolfswood from a stag, she had five pups fretting about her. As he had a son and another on the way, he thought perhaps they might like a pup. The others he would keep too, for any other children he might have. Except he also thought Jon might like one; he was of the wolf’s blood after all. He produced the pup, as white as snow with eyes as red as rubies, to the young boy, who immediately clutched the silent animal in his little arms and never let him go.

They suited each other, his silent wolf son and his silent wolf pup. Lyanna asked Jon what he wanted to name his pup and all he had said, in his soft whisper was: “Ghost.”

Sometimes Jon terrified him, but he would never say such things aloud. Jon was just… _different_ , he supposed, pressing his nose into his son’s soft dark curls. He rarely spent time with him, he would need to ensure that changed when they returned to King’s Landing. Egg was the heir, even as a child he still needed to be included in decisions, to prepare him for his life. He was always getting the most attention, even when he was in Dorne, it seemed that most things revolved around Egg. Rhaegar didn’t want Jon to feel like Viserys, like he was just a spare in the event the true heir died suddenly.

He was glad Jon had Daenerys—his sweet sister was always kind with the boy when they played together in the nursery. Jon often followed her around, taking her lead, despite being the elder. He supposed that was just Dany’s bright light, her dragon blood, pulling him along. “How did you and Ghost slip by the guards, hmm?” he murmured, lips brushing Jon’s temple.

“Ghost,” Jon said.

He chuckled; they were little ghosts. The small pup licked his hand, curling up in his lap as Jon patted the pup’s ears. “Yes, sneaking about the castle. Do you want to sit with me a bit?”

“Yes.”

They sat together, his son resting back in the crook of his arm, politely holding his wolf pup to him while Ghost slept, and his gray eyes scanning over the parchment and his head barely turning as Rhaegar moved in his chair, shifting the toddler carefully when he reached for a book or another quill. He finally gave up, unable to read another damn thing from Tywin Lannister—the man _always_ was angling for something and never seemed to offer anything in return. He set down the quill and glanced at Jon, who lifted his little face up. “You want to go to bed?” he asked.

The boy shook his head. “No.”

“Oh, well do you want to play with Ghost?”

All he received was a tiny smile. He moved from the chair, holding Jon and Ghost, taking them over to the large carpet stretched in front of the hearth. They carefully sank down on it and Ghost woke, nibbling at the toe of his boot before he bounced backwards, turning and wagging his tail, eager to play.

Jon giggled, smacking his hands on the carpet and trying to grab Ghost, but the pup scampered off. He got to his feet, hurrying after him, and Rhaegar laughed, watching his son run with sturdy little legs, his soft bedclothes swishing with the movement. He fell back onto the carpet and Jon appeared at his side, clambering onto his chest. Rhaegar winced—he still suffered pain from the blow Baratheon had managed to get on him at the Trident—gently moving Jon so he was not pressing his weight on the still sensitive and bruised bone.

His son smiled at him and stretched out, ear on his heart. Ghost came up beside them, yawning, and turned thrice in a circle before collapsing into a white ball, immediately falling asleep. Rhaegar marveled how animals could do that—just decide to sleep and suddenly with the snap of a finger, they were off in dream world. He would kill for that ability.

Jon yawned, his tiny pale purple eyelids drooping, before they closed completely, his little limbs curling up on him. As if on its own, his thumb drifted up and his lips closed over it, sucking as he clutched his fur and slept. He knew he should remove it; Lyanna would demand it, but he couldn’t disturb his son. He gazed down at him, studying his son’s sleeping features. He truly was the image of his mother, thin face, dark hair and gray eyes, save for a few of the finer features like his cheekbones or the line of his jaw that resembled Valyrians.

If they stood right beside each other, Jon did look similar to Viserys and Rhaenys, even if just the shape of their eyes. Everything else was all his mother. Rhaegar smiled, his hand covering Jon’s back, comforted by the weight of him. He closed his eyes, feeling warm and somewhat fuzzy. It was like the edges of his body were blurring.

Rhaegar had no idea how long he slept there on the carpet in front of the fire, cradling his sleeping son on his chest. He did not even dream, so deep was his sleep. Until he felt something quite odd. A wetness in his ear. He frowned, brow puckering. _What the seven…_ His eyes fluttered open, confused. He felt it again, this time stronger, a poking sensation. _Huh._ He blinked madly, trying to ascertain what was happening. He turned his head to discover the feeling, and blinked again, focusing on the small figure next to him.

It seemed he was going to have investigate how the children were escaping their confines. As well as their guards. Or maybe he was going to need to look into which guards were clearly not paying attention to allow toddlers to run off unnoticed through the castle.

Daenerys stood next to him in her nightdress, her silver hair fluttering softly around her face like little wings. She had her thumb in her mouth, sucking on it lightly. He wondered if Jon did it to be like her or if she did it to be like Jon. She poked him in the ear again, smiling around her fingers. He chuckled, clearing his throat. “What are you doing?” he whispered to her, using High Valyrian.

“ _Kepa_ ,” she said.

He sighed, shaking his head. “No, not kepa. Brother.”

She repeated: “ _Kepa.”_

They still had to work on it with her. She had started not long ago; hearing Jon refer to him as such. Lyanna said not to worry, she would learn as she grew older, allow her to think of him as a father for now. It would help her, she advised. He said nothing the second time, allowing Dany to curl against him, while Jon continued to sleep atop his chest.

Soon both of the children had fallen into each other’s arms, wrapped up tight. He gazed down at them, head propped on his hand, watching them curl against each other. They were two sides of a coin, he observed, lightly touching a stray dark curl of Jon’s. While his sister was silver, tiny bordering on frail, and her eyes bright violet, Jon was opposite. He was dark, his little body sturdy and solid.

Dany was fire, Jon was ice.

They were two dragons. Jon might have a direwolf as his familiar, but even at three years his fiery temper emerged, it just took time to draw out. Rhaegar got up, leaving them to sleep on the carpet, the little wolf pup scurrying to warm them, and he went to his desk, rummaging in papers until he found the scroll he was looking for, staring at its missive. It was from Highgarden—Mace Tyrell was trying his hardest to supplicate to the Crown, after he had supported Robert in the Uprising.

There was also the Lannisters. They were trying to force Cersei’s bastard son Joffrey upon Rhaenys—no one in their right mind believed that Joffrey was the son of Robert Baratheon. He was obviously the result of her relationship with her twin brother, Tywin might have a shrewd mind, but he was also ignorant as a stump when it came to his twin lions. Rhaegar did not fancy making marriage matches for his children; he knew it was required of him as King and he knew that marriage contracts were how the kingdoms had stayed together as long as they had. Alliances to be made and so forth.

He also knew that Viserys might have already been betrothed to Arianne Martell and Aegon was essentially supposed to be for Daenerys. It was common in the Targaryen line, he _knew_ this. If he had had a sister close in age, he would have been forced to marry her, per tradition. Except he hadn’t. Cersei Lannsiter was supposed to be his, until Aerys decided to humiliate Tywin. Rhaegar studied the missives and then stood, walking over to the fire to read them again. He sighed, not liking any of the options.

Lyanna did not want Jon to be married off to anyone, she wanted him to choose a bride for himself one day. “A love match, like us,” she reasoned. It could be done; Jon was not the heir to the Iron Throne. Neither was Daenerys.

Aegon would likely have to marry Daenerys, since Rhaenys was slated to keep the Lannisters in line. Rhaegar sighed, looking at the letters once more. He glanced down at his children and closed his eyes, throwing everything into the fire. “Fuck it,” he mumbled. They were children. He couldn’t do this now.

Instead, he returned to the children and lifted them carefully, their tiny arms curling around his neck, still sleeping. He left the room, Ghost trotting after him, and went into his chambers with Lyanna, where she stirred, likely at the sound of the door opening. Dragonstone was so ancient, it seemed everything made noise.

She rolled to her side, peering over, frowning. “Who have you got there?” she whispered; throat scratchy.

“It seemed I had some visitors.”

“Oh my, well, bring Jon here.”

“No, I think they should stay together. It’s how they fell asleep.” He set them both in the small cot that they kept in their room for when Jon had bad dreams or could not sleep, lightly covering them with a blanket. He made sure Jon had his ratty fur, but Dany it seemed had taken it for herself. _Of course Jon would let her have it._ He stroked their heads—one dark and one light—before turning to ready himself for bed.

Once in Lyanna’s arms, he thought out loud: “Do you think that Daenerys would like the West?”

“She’s two years, darling. She likes anything right now.” Lyanna frowned. “Except summer peas, she is not partial to those.”

“Neither is Jon,” he chuckled.

“That was quite a messy supper.”

They shared a laugh, over the children’s combined distastes. He stared up at the ceiling, mind racing. There was too much to think about. There was time, of course, but he would need to be careful. He kissed Lyanna’s head, turning and wrapping his arms around her, bringing her flush to his chest. “Never mind, I was just thinking.”

“Dangerous profession.”

They chuckled again, Lyanna falling to sleep, and Rhaegar lying awake for some time, wondering about the future. He eventually pulled free from her tight grasp, going over to gaze down at his son and his sister, the two of them fast asleep, Jon’s little mouth open and his eyelids fluttering with a dream. Dany’s silver hair had tangled over his face and she had one of her hands pressed to his cheek. She was smiling.

He returned to the bed, staring at the ceiling for the remainder of the night, well into morning. Until Lyanna woke, frowning down at him, concerned. “You did not sleep at all?” she whispered, concerned. “Are you feeling alright? Not ill are you?”

“No,” he murmured. He glanced sideways, eyebrow arching. “Do you believe in soulmates?”

“What?”

“The idea that there is one person designed specifically for you. One heart. No one else will suffice, no matter how hard you try, even if you love them, there is one specific person just for you,” he murmured. He thought it terribly romantic. The stuff of songs and something one might compose for a tourney. It would appeal to Lyanna, who despite her outward appearance could be very soft when she wanted.

She twirled a lock of his hair around her finger, shrugging. “I suppose…one could argue you and I were designed for each other.” A dark brow lifted. “Why?”

“I just think of Jon and Dany. They suit each other.”

“Aye, they do.”

He loved when she said _aye_. He glanced sideways at the cot, where the children continued to sleep. “I know…I know there are rules and there are traditions…but…what if they pair together? What if we arrange their marriage instead of Egg to Dany?”

She smirked, shaking her head, and rested back down against him. “Rhae, they are still so small. I just do not think it is necessary right now.”

“It needs to be done, it’s the way of the realm.”

“Aye, I understand, but Jon is just a boy and Daenerys is just a girl. They’re babies.”

“It was just a thought.”

“We will let them decide, Rhaegar.”

He sighed, knowing that it was easier said than done. Since there was no use arguing with his wife—she always got her way—he leaned over and kissed her lightly, before deepening it when she moaned softly against him, pressing harder to his side. He chuckled, rolling so she was beneath him, delighting in her little mewls and sighs of pleasure as he rained kisses over her face. “I figured yu’d be tired,” she mrumrued, although he knew it wasn’t a complaint.

“Not too tired for this.”

Lyanna chuckled, fingers diving through his hair, tangling at the base of his neck. He continued to kiss her, to play with the bottom of her nightdress and began to push it up, when she let out a little gasp, before giggling. He frowned. “What?”

“Um…we have a visitor.”

He rolled his eyes. “You are very crude Lyanna.”

“No, you idiot.” She smacked his shoulder and grabbed his chin, turning his face towards the side of the bed.

A set of gray eyes and a set of purple eyes blinked owlishly at them.

“Wha’ doin’?” Jon mumbled around his thumb. He blinked at them. “Mum? Kepa?”

Dany, on the other hand, didn’t wait for any explanations, giggling and climbing up into the bed, scurrying over to hug Lyanna around her neck. She began to chirp in High Valyrian, words slurring together in her toddler speak, Rhaegar could only get out the basics. It seemed she was hungry, and she wanted lemons. He assumed that meant lemon cakes. She then pinched her tiny features together and growled, curling her fingers and lurched to Jon, who squealed and ran off, giggling, tripping on his fur.

“Baler!” she shouted, making the growling sound once more and Jon laughed, running off through the open door into the adjacent solar, where they proceeded to climb atop the settee, shouting and playing what Rhaegar assumed was some sort of dragon game, because suddenly they stretched their arms to the side and began running in circles. Ghost yipped around them, eager to join.

He hit his head to Lyanna’s shoulder, as she giggled beneath him. “It never ends.”

“No, it does not. Get up my king, you have a ful day ahead of you. I will tend to them.”

He climbed from the bed, looking up when there was a knock at the door. “Enter!”

The door pushed open and to his surprise, Viserys leaned against the frame, sullen and sneering. “I found this…” He lifted up another ratty little fur, this one a color Rhaegar knew used to be white, holding it from the tip of his finger. “In my bed.”

“Hmm, seems Dany went to you before she found me.”

He made a face, tossing the fur at Dany, who rushed over, babbling and holding her arms up for her brother. Viserys, as much as he wanted to hate them all, picked her up and put her on his hip, glowering as she tugged on his hair. “Ugh, why are her fingers sticky?” he complained.

“I think it is a requirement of children,” Lyanna yawned, a dressing gown now wrapped around her. She lifted Jon, who was on his hands and knees, barking like Ghost, who seemed confused at this new development, and patted his back, kissing his cheek. “Come my little wolf cub.”

Rhaegar took his sister from his brother, turning Viserys around towards the corridor. “I have meetings this morning, but then we can go for a ride later, I will make sure the stablehands know.” He wanted to make sure that despite the constant attention the babies got, Viserys also could have his time. In fact, as his brother, Viserys _deserved_ his time. Far more than the realm did.

The light that sparked in his brother’s pale lilac eyes quickly shuttered, as Viserys tried to make it seem like it was not that big of a deal. “Fine,” he sniffed. He made a face at Dany, who was trying to stick her fingers into his ear. Rhaegar would have to find out why she had become so obsessed with doing this.

Until he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Jon was trying to stuff Lyanna’s hair into her ear. _Hmmm, they really did copy each other._ He ushered everyone out of the room so he could dress for the day, but found he was almost too tired to do so. He blinked, yawning, and gazed at the big fluffy bed, which was just so inviting.

He crawled back into it, _just for a few minutes_ …

Only to wake, suddenly, to what felt like a boulder falling atop him. _Make that two_ , he thought, groaning as the bed shifted under him and another weight fell atop him.

“Up! Up! Up!” Dany shouted.

And Jon stepped over his back, shouting: “Now! Now! Now!”

 _Yes, they were quite suited_ , Rhaegar thought darkly, shoving a pillow over his head.

**fin.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages:  
> Viserys- 11  
> Rhaenys- 8  
> Aegon- 4  
> Jon- 3  
> Dany- 2


	2. marriage contracts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna bears witness to a marriage contract...between a five and four year old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Please enjoy another fun little fluffy update to this fic. As random ideas come to me I will post them. I'd like to venture more into this strange little Targaryen nuclear family normalcy I've somehow stumbled into.
> 
> Also, I have added a moodboard to the first chapter. Might do one for this one if I feel up to searching for pics, lol.

“I am Alysanne, you are Jaeherys.”

“Yes.”

“I am the Good Queen and you are the Wise King.”

“Yes, alright.”

Dany picked up a red scarf from a chest with assorted old gowns and other textiles, draping it over her head like one might a wedding veil. She looped her arm into Jon’s, before placing crown of sticks and twine on his head. He rolled his eyes up to look at it, frowning, but remained quiet. She smiled wide. “There! Now, we walk.”

“Why?”

“Cause’ we’re getting married, silly!”

Jon nodded, no more questions asked, following his aunt’s lead, walking to the wall, where there was a large mural of a forest. He looked up at the tree, frowning again. “I thought only I follow Old Gods?”

“If you do then I do too.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

Dany knelt and pulled him down to his knees too. She cocked her head, the scarf falling around her shoulders. They remained quiet for a few moments, until Dany turned to him, pursing her lips. “Now we kiss,” she said with her lips staying that way, pursed up like a little fish. She was waiting. He did nothing. She scowled, poking him in the stomach, annoyed. Obviously, Jon was not following the rules of the game. “We have to kiss, it makes it a real wedding.”

Jon nodded, followed orders, and kissed her. They stayed that way for a moment, lips sealed together, another minute or so passing before Dany broke the kiss. He frowned and wiped at his mouth with the back of his small hand. “Did I do it right?”

“I think so.” Dany got to her feet, pulling him up to his and they went over to two chairs she had positioned at the balcony, overlooking King’s Landing. She pointed to his. “You sit, that is your throne.” She sat in hers, smoothing out her little black skirt and sitting primly, a proper lady. Nay, a queen. She tilted her chin up, regal, Targaryen. “And I sit here.”

During the entire exchange, Lyanna had been watching from the doorway, on a break from a tedious meeting with Rhaegar and the Small Council about budgets and finances. She had the mind for figures, but not the patience. That was Rhaegar’s domain, besides Tywin Lannister was there, and she could not stand the man, not after the rumors she had heard of how he treated his youngest son, the dwarf, who was somewhere about the keep. She’d also made sure to drag Jaime out with her, since the mere presence of his father turned their youngest Kingsguard into a stumbling mess, constantly under the disapproving glare of the Old Lion.

She also wanted to check on Jon, since the Maester said he still was rubbing his ear and complaining his throat hurt, even a week after he had recovered from a fever and bout of shivers. It seemed he felt fine, playing with Dany. Although Lyanna suspected even if Jon was on his deathbed, Dany would drag him out to play. He never denied her anything, always following her lead.

It pleased her to see him looking and feeling healthy. Same for Dany, who had been distraught at her playmate’s confinement to bed. Lyanna had gone to check on him in the night and found the little girl asleep on the floor outside his chambers, unable to get the door open since on the other side, Ghost had been fast asleep and the giant direwolf now weighed well over a hundred pounds and stood almost as tall as a small pony.

Lyanna smirked, watching Dany putter about, waving her hands and walking around like she was greeting her subjects. Jon trailed after her, occasionally sticking his thumb up to his lips, to her annoyance. He was almost six years and still did that when he was nervous. _Why is he nervous right now?_ , she wondered, arms crossed.

Dany, always observant, turned, scowling at him. “Queen Lyanna says you are not to do that.”

Jon immediately dropped his thumb, shoving his hands behind his back. “Sorry,” he mumbled, ducking his head. He looked rather ashamed, but to Lyanna’s warm heart, she smiled, rather teary, as Dany reached over to comfort him, patting his cheek with her tiny hand.

“Are you feeling better? You scared me!”

“I am sorry.”

Dany flung her arms around him, hugging tight, and she sniffed back tears. “I do not like when you are sick Jon. You scare me. I want you to always be better. So we can play together. No one wants to play with me. Only you.”

“What about Egg?”

She frowned, shaking her head. “He does not like me.”

Jon reached back for her and hugged her again, their small heads resting on the other’s shoulder. “I like you Dany. I love you very much.”

“I love you too.”

“Maybe we can get Rhaenys to play with us.”

Lyanna thought that was Jon just trying to make Dany feel better. As the eldest of the little group of four, Rhaenys had reached a point where the mere appearance of her younger brothers and her aunt drove her mad. She was a _grown-up_ as she had told Lyanna earlier that week, sniffing and walking off after Lyanna suggested she play with dolls with Daenerys, who had been distraught that no one wanted to spend time with her while Jon still recovered. Right now Rhaenys was in lessons, the septa no doubt drilling her with passages from the Book of Seven, and Rhaenys was probably ready to jump out the window, preferring to be in the stables with her filly or in the yard training with the bullwhip that her Uncle Oberyn had gifted her on her last nameday.

Egg was also in lessons, poor dear, Lyanna sighed. He sometimes longed to be with his siblings, but as the heir, he was set on a different path. She would have to talk to Rhaegar about that, to make sure that at least he was allowed to go riding with Jon later that week, instead of sitting with the stuffy Maesters.

“Lyanna.”

The drawl from behind her had her turning, frowning briefly at the sight of Viserys. “Aren’t you supposed to be with Egg?” she asked. Viserys took the same lessons; Rhaegar had it in his head to hopefully have Egg name his uncle as his Hand one day. Viserys wanted nothing to do with it. He preferred to be as far from the capitol as possible and had been demanding that he be allowed to go to Dorne to spend time with his betrothed Arianne.

He rolled his eyes. “Egg is with Rhaegar. Something about learning sums practically or whatever. I had to get out of there.”

“Perhaps Jon should be there.”

“Jon would die of boredom. Or Dany would kill him.”

Lyanna snorted; _yes, probably._ “Well now that you are here, perhaps you want to join them? They are playing Queen Alysanne and King Jaeherys.” She glanced into the room again, watching the children run about in circles, arms outstretched, making loud noises and occasionally knocking over the furniture. “Although now I think it’s Dragons.”

“Please, I’d rather stick my head in a fire.”

“Oh come on, I know you were worried about Jon.”

He made a face, admitting to nothing. At ten and three years, Viserys was just about as disgusted with his sister and nephews as his niece was. Even though he hid his pleasure when Dany often tried to knock on his door when she had bad dreams first before she went hunting out Rhaegar. Lyanna knew this because Dany had a bad habit of picking-up and putting-down, often dropping her ratty fur blanket at his door before she wandered off somewhere else. Lyanna suspected she went to Viserys first because she didn’t want to “upset” Rhaegar.

Or because when no one was looking, Viserys would sneak her sweets or tell her stories about Aegon the Conqueror. Daenerys had a little bit of bloodlust, often asking for stories that had “lots of fire and blood.” Jon always paled at these stories, but put up with them because Dany did. He preferred the ones she told about wolves and White Walkers and wargs beyond the Wall.

Viserys wrinkled his nose when Dany ran over to give Jon another kiss. “Why does she keep doing that?”

“I think she thinks that it is what queens do.”

“Are you going to marry them then?”

It was always in the back of her mind, she thought, brow furrowing at the notion. The children were their keys to keeping the realm stable, Rhaegar always said, even though it upset her. They were _children._ She didn’t want Daenerys to grow up always thinking of the man she was going to marry, a contract written and signed before she had even become a woman or had a chance to live a little girl’s life, dreaming of knights and dragons. Or in Dany’s case, being the knight who rode a dragon.

Lyanna remembered when her father announced she was to marry Robert Baratheon. It destroyed her for a good long time, until she decided that she would continue to live her life like he wasn’t a constant looming presence. Then she met Rhaegar at the Tourney of Harranhal. Rhaegar had done what Rhaegar did and she did what she did, and thousands died for it. She closed her eyes briefly, a lurch of guilt, pain, and sadness overtaking her before she swallowed it back.

She took a deep breath, fixed on her son and her goodsister—although Daenerys was more like her daughter—answering Viserys cooly. “Rhaegar is not sure.”

“Who would Dany go to if not him? Aegon?” He snorted. “She would never be fit to rule beside someone.”

“Daenerys could be a queen.”

Viserys cocked his head, his silver hair styled similarly to Rhaegar, although his lilac eyes lighter and far shrewder. He smirked. “Daenerys doesn’t want to be _a_ queen.” He arched his brows, voice like silk. “Daenerys would want to be _the_ queen.”

How was it that Viserys was as young as he was with that much knowledge already? Lyanna narrowed her eyes, nodding absently. She was fine being a queen. Rhaegar ruled and she beside him. Daenerys though…Egg would be the ruler paramount, but she agreed. Daenerys, even at the tender age of five years, would never be content to just sit to the side of him. She would want to sit on the throne herself.

“Well, Jon is the second son,” Lyanna said, effectively ending the conversation with her teenage goodbrother. “He will likely marry someone from a smaller house. Rhaegar wouldn’t want to marry him to a Tyrell or a Lannister. Might give them ideas.” The marriage contract between Joffrey Baratheon and Rhaenys was null and void. No one believed that Cersei Lannister’s son was legitimate. She’d been shoved off to Casterly Rock, Tywin furious and trying to procure her another marriage prospect. Even daring to suggest she marry Viserys.

She glanced at Viserys again, who was still smirking, rather knowingly. An eyebrow quirked up, silently asking him _what?_ and he shrugged. “You seem very put off by it.”

“They are children, let them pretend to be married. For as long as they can.”

“Whatever.” Viserys was bored. He made a face again and pushed from the wall. “I am going to leave before she finds… _shit._ ”

It delighted Lyanna that Dany had spotted them both, while she was in the process of standing on a chair and apparently executing Jon, a wooden sword in her hands and about to swing at his neck, while he knelt with his head out. “Vis!” she squealed, dropping the sword, knocking Jon on the head.

Lyanna winced, hurrying through the nursery over to her son, who was rubbing his head and shooting Dany a cold gray glare. “Are you alright my wolf cub?” she asked, checking to make sure he didn’t have a cut.

“You dropped it!” Jon exclaimed at her.

Dany looked over her shoulder, trying to grab Viserys around the knees, but he was doing a good job of prying her off him. “Sorry.” She didn’t sound very sorry.

The dragon blood ran very deep within Jon, but it was there. It took a lot to anger him and for his temper to come out. Which it did now, his gray eyes darkening, for a brief moment, a sheen of indigo appearing in them. He growled, pushing away from her arms and charged at Dany, tackling her to the ground. “It hurt!”

“Lemme go!”

“Seven hells Jon,” Viserys commented, pushing away from the wrestling children. He darted to the door. “I am out of here.”

“Jon you stop that this instant!” Lyanna shouted. She grabbed for him, wrenching him back while Dany cried, as Jon had pulled on her braid. She pushed him into a chair, pointing a finger and shooting a stern look at his sullen, scowling face. “You sit right there. Do _not_ move.”

Dany wailed, holding up her arm. “It hurts!” There was a little scrape on her wrist from where she’d skidded on the stone floor.

“Oh it will be alright, just think of it as a war wound,” Lyanna cooed to her. She lifted her up, using the hem of her skirt to dry at the little girl’s eyes and face, carrying her to take the seat beside Jon. She knelt before both of them, a hand on either of their knees. She narrowed her gaze at her son first. “You apologize to her. You know better than to push her down. You never do that.”

He wrinkled his nose, but mumbled, looking sideways, barely. “Sorry Dany. For pushing you.”

She sighed, glancing to Dany, who was still sniffling, lightly touching her scrape. “And Daenerys?”

“Yes?”

“You apologize to Jon for dropping the sword on him. That was not very nice either.”

“Didn’t mean to,” she mumbled.

“That does not matter, you still must be careful and say you are sorry.”

They shared another look between them, before silently reaching, at the same time, and embraced. The bond they had was something else entirely, Lyanna thought, as they separated, with Jon giving her scrape a kiss and patting it lightly, while she rubbed at the top of his head, sending his curls askew. He moved to flatten them, blinking at her. “Can we play again?” he asked.

She sighed, nodding. “Yes. You can. Although I think maybe no more Dragons or…whatever you were just playing.”

“Lyanna.”

The sweet, musical way Daenerys said her name brought a wide smile to her lips. “Yes love?” she asked, reaching a hand to take the little girl’s, which was reaching up for her.

Daenerys cocked her head. “Will you be my mother if Jon and I marry like you and Rhae?”

The innocent question reverberated throughout her heart, shaking loose the thoughts she’d just tried to push away over her son’s future marriage prospects and Rhaegar’s plans for his sister. She swallowed hard, a lump forming in the back of her throat. She hated these types of questions. Sometimes Dany just shot them out there, with no buildup, no nothing. It hurt. Asking about her mother, her father…she only just stopped referring to Rhae as “kepa”, while Jon still did.

She took a deep breath, nodding carefully. “Yes love, if you and Jon marry, I will be your goodmother.”

“Oh! Then Jon and I will get married.” She picked up Jon’s hand, squeezing it. He smiled at her. “Will you like that Jon? Will you marry me?”

“Yes Dany, I will marry you.”

Lyanna closed her eyes tight, wincing. It was so much more difficult than that. She crossed her arms over her chest, standing in place while they giggled, no longer upset or arguing, and rushed to gather their costumes to continue playing Alysanne and Jaeherys. She left them to play, walking out and ordering Ser Jaime to keep watch over them both, before making her way through the Red Keep to her personal solar.

She busied her mind with tasks, writing some ravens out to her brothers—Ned at Winterfell and Benjen at the Wall. She scribbled out something to Lady Catelyn, although they did not have much in common besides having a son about the same age. There were accounts to go over, for the stables and the horses, and she even had mind to go down and inspect some of the new stallions they’d purchased from Essos.

Lyanna remained quiet during supper, answering only when Rhaegar asked her questions about her day. He tried to ensure that he was always there for supper with the entire family, as annoyed as Rhaenys and Viserys found it. It never went how he dreamed it would be, all of them politely eating, discussing topics of the day, Westerosi history and the like. Inevitably Dany would do something that annoyed Rhaenys and Egg would try to make Jon eat his vegetables and Viserys would make some comment about how _stupid_ they all were which would set off Rhaenys and Egg, while Jon just flushed. Dany would usually be trying to flick food at someone if she grew bored, which was always.

It was no different. Tonight Dany thought it would be funny to throw a pea at Rhaenys, who thought it was Egg that did it, so she coughed on his food, which sent him into a fit. Jon almost choked on his venison when Egg told him it was poisoned and of course Dany lost it and burst into tears, screaming that if Jon died, she would die too. A sight that terrified Lyanna, as the five-year old was holding her knife in her hand while she made the proclamation.

“Can I _go_?” Rhaenys demanded, begging her father.

Rhaegar sighed, burying his face in his hands. “Go,” he mumbled.

“Thank the gods, this family is crazy.”

Lyanna could not really disagree with her. She calmed Jon down, who didn’t want her, but his father. Dany tried to fight for supremacy, needing Rhaegar too. He dealt with them both and she got up, no longer in the mood for anything, while Egg just laughed. Viserys didn’t even ask for permission and just left.

That night, she leaned on her pillows, waiting for Rhaegar to come in. He wandered in from his adjacent chambers, kept only for changing purposes as they shared a room, quite uncommon. He climbed into the bed, sinking back into the mattress with a heavy groan. “This has been a day from one of the seven hells, I should really be working, but I cannot read anything,” he complained, an arm over his eyes.

She fiddled with the embroidery on one of the blankets. “Odds of Jon coming into our room tonight?” she asked.

“Pretty high, he was asking if I could check his room for White Walkers.”

“Oh gods.” That was all they needed. The last time he had those dreams, he had almost burned his hand off throwing a lantern at what happened to be Jaime Lannister coming to take over on guard duty from Ser Oswell.

Rhaegar patted her knee, lifting his gaze up to meet hers. “You seem troubled,” he murmured. He shifted, propping his head on his hand. “Would you like to tell me?”

It was nothing, but she knew ultimately it would become something. Lyanna slumped further down, so their heads were sharing the same pillow. “Just thinking of Jon and Daenerys. I know you think that per Targaryen tradition, she should marry Aegon, they are close in age after all, since you do not want to keep up the brother and sister tradition.” He shook his head silently. That one would break with him, he vowed. She chewed her lower lip, frowning. “Today Daenerys asked if I would be her mother, if she married Jon. I said yes, she then said that they would marry.”

There, she said it. She didn’t know what he would think. It was silly, to be so bothered by it. After a moment, Rhaegar finally smiled, a low chuckle escaping him. “This has been bothering you?” he asked.

“Well…yes. I mean…I just do not believe that we should be planning their futures like this right now, they’re still so young. I want Daenerys to live a life where she does not have to have this on her, and then asking if I would be her mother…” She groaned, pushing her face into the crook of his neck, his strong arms stretching to wrap her up, rubbing at the small of her back beneath the blankets. “Rhaegar! It isn’t funny!”

“I’m not laughing.”

“You were.”

He kissed her brow. “Darling, it is not funny, I know. As for Daenerys thinking you are her mother…” He frowned, pain filling his eyes. He closed them, a moment of silence passing before he spoke, whispering. “I wish she could have known our mother, gods above I do. She would have loved her so much, like Viserys and I did, treasured her even…sadly that is not the way. She knows you as her mother, it does not matter whether she calls you that in name or in her heart or…or whether one day it will be by marriage.” He brushed a tear from her cheek. It hurt her, to think of Rhaella never knowing her only daughter. Even she had come so close, bleeding out in her birthing bed, wondering if her only experience as a mother would be to hold her son for the barest moment before someone took him away from her.

Rhaegar continued, still quiet. “As for Jon and Dany marrying, well…honestly would it be so bad? They clearly adore each other…they’re basically the same person, but…well they’re different too.”

They were still children though. Lyanna sighed. “I would like to wait though. Nothing permanent. Please. Just like with Egg and Rhaenys. I know they are not my children, but…”

“I understand,” he said, cutting her off. The parenting of his children with Elia was all him. Lyanna never wanted to pretend to be their mother. She was there for them, she loved them, but Elia had been their mother and the memory of her would never fade, they would always know her, as much as possible. He shifted, brow furrowing. “As the future king, Egg is my priority, as much as I hate to say that. His marriage one day will mean a future queen, future heirs to the throne…I do not think that Daenerys is that person.”

“Daenerys would want to be queen in her own right.”

Rhaegar rolled onto his back, staring at the canopy of their bed, an odd looking passing his face. “Maybe she should be.”

Lyanna frowned, unsure what that meant. She moved to kiss him, exhausted. As much as she would love to take her kisses deeper, to explore his beautifully sculpted body, which was laid out like a buffet for her taking, she had a feeling that they should remain fully clothed in case of any nighttime visitors. It seemed Rhaegar had the same idea, or else he was just exhausted, for when she settled down on her pillow and had the blankets drawn up, she glanced sideways to see he was already fast asleep, mouth ajar and a slight snore caught in his throat.

She rolled her eyes, hitting her pillow and fell back, sighing as she slowly drifted off.

It didn’t last long.

After what Lyanna had hoped was most of the evening, she felt a light hand patting her face awake. “Mama. Mama. Mama.” She groaned, eyelids flickering, making out the image of a curly head of hair at her bedside in the darkness. The shift in the bed clearly informed this intruder that she was awake. He pushed at her shoulder, using it for leverage to hoist himself onto the bed, falling over her with a light grunt.

“Jon,” she mumbled. “What’s wrong?”

“White Walkers,” he whispered, barely, now trying to get under Rhaegar’s arm. “Scary.”

_I will kill Old Nan for telling him those stories._

Lyanna pulled the furs up over him. “Where is Ghost?” she whispered.

 _Nevermind._ A heavy thud sounded, the mattress sinking further with the weight of the direwolf, who now had curled up at the foot of the bed, thankfully taking up most of Rhaegar’s side. Her husband, the King of Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm and all that, was still asleep, oblivious to the direwolf now drooling on his feet and the little prince buried in the crook of his arm, clutching his ratty fur blanket.

 _At least he isn’t sucking his thumb_ , she thought, trying to get settled, while also promising herself that they would not let him keep doing this, he had to stay in his own bed. She closed her eyes again, but it didn’t last. Maybe an hour or so later, she vaguely heard Rhaegar asking something about _why are you in here now?_

“Jon had bad dream; I need to be with him.”

The quiet, insistent voice of Daenerys barely registered with her. She moved over, making room for the little girl, who instantly curled around Jon, both of them dropping quickly to sleep. Lyanna waited a beat, turning to peer over her shoulder, meeting Rhaegar’s shining gaze. They both chuckled and climbed out of the bed, gathering up each one of the children—she Daenerys and he Jon—carting them out and into Jon’s room, since he had the bigger bed for Ghost.

The direwolf hopped up first, waiting patiently, and she laid Dany down, the little girl mumbling, her face flushed with sleep and silver curls soft around her shoulders. She moved to hug Ghost and Jon followed suit, both of them using the great beast as their pillow. “We really shouldn’t be doing this, letting them share the same bed all the time,” she said, closing the door quietly behind her as they left.

Rhaegar yawned, ignoring the stifled laugh from Ser Arthur, who was on Dany’s guard that evening. He scratched his chest, padding into their room. “Just let them sleep Lyanna. They’ll grow out of it.”

Lyanna wasn’t so sure.

Her suspicions were confirmed the following morning, when she thought Dany would have forgotten what she’d said, the little girl looking darkly at Tywin Lannister in the Small Council chambers, announcing that she was going to marry Prince Jon of House Targaryen and they were going to fly on dragons to Essos and rule there, so Egg could rule over the Seven Kingdoms.

Lyanna would have laughed, if it didn’t have quite the ring of truth to it. She gathered up Dany, dragging her out of the chambers, while Rhaegar dealt with Tywin, who seemed quite irritated by this new development.

“Good girl,” she mumbled, even as Dany shouted to all who heard her that Jon would marry her.

Anything to annoy the Lannisters, honestly.

**fin.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages:  
> Viserys- 13  
> Rhaenys- 11  
> Aegon- 7  
> Jon- 6  
> Dany- 5


	3. future worries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany is distraught over a rumor she hears, which has Jon insistent with his father about his role in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I outlined a few more chapters of this, just short little drabbles/vignettes. They will not follow much of a plot and will alternate POVs. Every one of them will be Rhaegar/Lyanna and ultimately have some Jonerys growing up to their adult selves. It's a nice little distraction from the world right now.
> 
> (Also yes, haha, Lyanna is ahead of her time and universe with the comment she makes about the weight of the crown. :P It is a very good line from Shakespeare after all).

The Iron Throne needed a good cushion, or else a king needed buttocks of iron to survive it, Rhaegar thought, his entire backside numb from sitting the last five hours. He had to hold in any urge he had to just collapse onto the nearest settee or chaise or yawn or rub the small of his back where he felt twinging. Or even touch his chest, the long-ago injury from Robert Baratheon aching as a storm approached, like it always did. It was not _kingly._

What he wouldn’t give for a hot bath with Lyanna about then, he thought, the image rather inspiring. If he could survive the rest of the day, meeting with the smallfolk during his ride about the streets later. He also wanted to slip away, to go play the harp for the orphans at the main orphanage. He had learned quite a lovely new tune from a visiting bard. He wanted to try it out, see how they liked it.

“Stop it!”

“You stop!”

Rhaegar sighed, closing his eyes briefly and turned, black cloak swirling around him. His sons froze, Egg’s hand up to push at Jon while Jon was trying to swipe at him. They both dropped their arms, but not before saying at the same time: “He did it first.”

“I do not care who did anything, you are both Princes of the Seven Kingdoms. Egg, you are the Prince of Dragonstone, the heir to the Iron Throne and Jon, you are…”

“The spare,” Egg snickered. Jon shot him a dirty look, gray eyes as cold as ice.

“The Winter Prince,” Rhaegar continued, not even acknowledging Aegon’s snide remark about Jon’s birth order. He hated that term. Viserys referred to himself as such quite often, he detested it. He used Jon’s official title, a newly created one that acknowledged Jon’s Northern heritage, similar to how the realm referred to Lyanna as the “Winter Queen.” He scowled at them both, voice tight, commanding. “You are both old enough to behave accordingly. I suppose I should be grateful you were not misbehaving during the audience.”

They had both stood silently for the last five hours, on either side of the throne, Egg in resplendent red velvets while Jon was in black. Egg wore a circlet that had flames along the edge, with rubies and topaz along the gold setting, like a sunburst in his silver hair. The exact opposite, Jon’s circlet of silver held onyx and sapphire. His sword held a wolf’s head pommel while Egg’s was a dragon. They often behaved perfectly well during the audience meetings, but five hours on their feet, at their age, Rhaegar supposed he should expect them to act out once they were away from the prying eyes of the smallfolk and the court. He turned around, to lead them to the Small Council chambers, to discuss what they had heard, when the sight of his little sister sobbing and running down the corridor towards him had him freezing n place.

“Daenerys!” he exclaimed, alarmed. “What is it? Is everything alright?” He glanced up to Ser Oswell, who was racing after her, on her protection that afternoon. “Oz?”

“Please, please, please Rhae tell it isn’t true!”

 _What in the seven hells?_ Rhaegar had no idea what had her so upset or what had her pushing by him and grabbing hold of Jon, startling him almost straight off his feet, as she wrapped her arms tight around him, before placing her body before him, like she was shielding him. Hot tears stained her pink cheeks, her silver hair a messy tangle of braids. He noted her dress was dirty; she probably had been sneaking around in the secret passages again. A favorite pastime of her and Jon.

He sighed, shaking his head. “Daenerys I can’t answer if you do not explain.”

A fierce, determined look twisted in her violet eyes, flashing angrily now. “I heard that Cersei Lannister is to marry Jon! _My_ Jon!”

“What!?”

The explosion was very unlike him, he normally could take things without losing his temper or control. It was a requirement as King. Egg’s eyebrows went straight up to his forehead, a loud bark of laugh escaping him before he quickly composed himself, turning pink trying to retain his laughter. Jon turned green, almost collapsing again if it were not for Dany to hold him upright. A surge of anger flowed through him, his teeth setting. “What?” he repeated, this time calmer, forcing down the raging inferno.

“I heard it from Ser Jaime who heard it from Lord Tyrion who heard it from his lord father Tywin Lannister! He had a raven today from Casterly Rock!” Dany moved again, practically pinning Jon against the wall, crying out. “I forbid it!”

Unable to control himself, Egg snickered again. “Interesting, the spinster lioness, Tywin’s only attempt at gaining control, with little Jon? I wonder what that bedding will look like.”

“Shut up!” Dany exclaimed, lurching for Egg. Jon closed his eyes, shuddering, still saying nothing. Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell, and Ser Jonathor all jumped in, prying apart Dany and Egg. It took both Arthur and Oswell to get his little sister, all seven years of her, off of Egg, whose circlet had fallen askew and his hair on end. She punched and kicked, wailing. “He can’t marry that horrible woman! He just can’t!”

“And he won’t,” he shouted. This was entirely unbecoming, their personal business screaming about the corridor, not ten feet away from the Iron Throne. Gods only knew how many people were listening. He’d have to verify with his Mistress of Whisperers, Lady Olenna. He pinched his nose between his index finger and thumb, shoulders sagging. “Daenerys, Jon is not marrying Cersei Lannister. That is a vicious rumor and I cannot believe you think it to be true.”

Dany blinked, still torn between sobs of anger and sobs of terror over losing her beloved Jon. “What?” she blurted.

Rhaegar nodded, about to suggest they take this somewhere more private, back to Maegor’s Holdfast and their personal chambers, when Egg spun to glare at him, his lilac eyes equally wary and heated. “Well I will not marry her either! Do not even think about it Father!”

“No one is marrying Cersei Lannister!” _That they would ever admit_ , he added silently. He turned on his heel, ending the entire thing then and there. They would continue it elsewhere. The Kingsguard kept up with them, the children rushing behind him, trying to keep up with his long, purposeful strides. He nodded to Ser Jaime who was on the bridge to the Holdfast that afternoon, making a mental note to tell Ser Gerold that perhaps Jaime need not be on Dany’s guard for a bit.

They emerged into his solar, where he began to pull off his heavy black cloak, Jon and Egg hurrying to assist. He lifted the crown from his head, placing it on the center of the large black desk turned towards the open archway, gazing upon Blackwater Bay. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes closed. It felt so much better when the blasted thing was off. Like his head suddenly could support itself again. “Now,” he murmured, turning around once more, all three of them standing and staring at him.

Only Daenerys had her arms crossed, a surly scowl in her delicate features. Jon remained nervous, quiet. Egg was idly tapping his fingers against his wrist, arms behind his back. He narrowed his eyes on each one of them. They were all a year apart. Sometimes it felt like they were decades. Egg had the weight of the world like he did on his shoulders, as the heir. Jon was so much like him it terrified him, quiet and brooding and sulking. Then there was Daenerys, who would blow them all down with fire if they did not shield themselves in time. He closed his eyes again, a hard exhale puffing from his lungs. “All of you can leave, I have plenty of work to do and I do not need to listen to you complain about silly rumors.”

“But…” she began.

“No,” he interrupted. He ran his hand over his hair, tugging at the silver braid. He shook his head. “I don’t want to hear it.”

 _It is like I am not even here._ Egg ignored him, like Dany, and wrinkled his nose up, glaring at Jon. “I will not marry anyone if I can help it.”

“You need an heir,” Dany said.

“You can be my heir then.”

“Ooh really?”

Jon piped up, loudly: “I don’t want it!”

“No one is asking you!” exclaimed Rhaegar. He needed them to go. He pointed to the door. “All of you, out!”

Egg stuck his tongue out at Dany, who made a face to his back, following him, while Jon repeated again that he didn’t want it, whatever _it_ was, Rhaegar didn’t even care. That was often Jon’s line for many things. At eight years, he was often very contrary. He waited for the door to close behind them, the children squabbling into the corridor. He fell back into his chair, groaning in relief at finally having a cushion beneath him.

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”

The teasing, lilting Northern brogue filtering through the room brought a smile to his face. He lifted one eye, watching Lyanna enter from the adjoining solar, where she often took her letters and did her day-to-day business as the Queen. She meandered over, coming to sit on the arm of his chair, a hand running over his forehead. She tsked, clucking her tongue. “You poor dear. Having to deal with those rotten children.”

“They are unbelievable sometimes.”

“Yes, they are. Even when they are not around it seems I am hearing of them.” She pursed her lips, her dark brows coming together in annoyance. “It seems the maids find our son to be quite, I believe they said… _pretty_.”

“Pretty?!”

She nodded, tossing her dark curls over her shoulder, still scowling. “Aye, they were gossiping about him while changing the linens. I was with Ashara, we were finishing our tea on the balcony, they could not see us. Ugh, what they were saying!”

“Should I have them thrown in the Black Cells, love?” He was only half-teasing. When it came to Jon, Lyanna was a snarling, vicious she-wolf protecting her cub. Gods help the people who possibly threatened him. The memory of a minor lord of the Reach playing a trick on a small toddling Jon, resulting in his son crying for hours, unable to stop sobbing about a ‘spy-er’—for it seemed the lord had indicated that a spider would come and castrate the poor boy—rang in his mind. Lyanna had calmly summoned the lord for a private audience with her royal husband and herself, asked the man if he had an heir, which he did, and then challenged him to trial by combat for threatening the prince. When the man had asked who he would be fighting, she had calmly stood and walked out, saying: _”Me.”_ The man lost, suffered a grievous injury to his nether regions resulting in an inability to father more sons, and no one ever in all the Seven Kingdoms threatened or told scary stories to Prince Jon ever again.

Rhaegar reached for his wife, drawing her into his lap. She settled against him, her arm draped around his neck, fiddling with the end of his braid. “They say he is pretty,” she repeated, uncertainty in her tone. She nibbled her lower lip, drawing it between her top teeth. “Is that not what a boy should be, you think?”

He shrugged, unsure. “Jon is rather comely.”

“As is Egg. And you, Viserys even.”

“Don’t tell him that.” Viserys really did enjoy his reflection in the looking glass. He was always the most smartly dressed of them all. It suited him.

Lyanna chuckled, her fingers skimming through his hair, before she dragged her index finger down the straight line of his nose, tapping it, her nose scrunching. “You are rather pretty, I believe.”

He pulled her in close, lightly kissing her. “Handsome, love.”

“Pretty, Dragon King. As are all your children and siblings. It is the Valyrians. The Dornish.” She scrunched her nose again, lifting a slim shoulder and adjusting her navy skirts around her riding leathers, which peeked out underneath. “Not the brutish North.”

 _Oh I do beg to differ about the North_ , he thought to himself, drawing her down for a kiss, to show her exactly how much he disagreed with that sentiment.

~/~/~/~

“Ned, honestly, more grain for the Night’s Watch?” he mumbled, folding another raven scroll from his good-brother, who was once again asking for more rations for the brothers in black. He would need to journey North sooner rather than later. It was necessary, the closer they came to winter. The nights were growing longer, the days shorter, and a chill had begun to settle over the normally stifling King’s Landing. Ned would no doubt be clamoring for a reason or excuse to see his sister and nephew.

 _Maybe Lyanna and Jon could go first, stay a bit_ , he mused. He was putting off, as was Lyanna, Jon’s fostering at Winterfell. Lyanna wanted him to experience the joys of growing up at Winterfell, as she did, much like Egg and Rhaenys experiencing the heat and exoticness of Dorne. He would think about it, ask Lyanna tomorrow, if he remembered. He leaned forward over the remaining stack of scrolls, insisting upon reading them himself instead of having a Grand Maester take first look.

Rhaegar had Lyanna to watch over him, as he did with Arthur—his best friend—so he knew it wasn’t the type of paranoia that his father succumbed to, but healthy skepticism that the Maesters of the Citadel weren’t wholly committed to the Realm. They had their agenda as well. The only Maester he truly trusted was his Uncle Aemon, who was blind and thousands of leagues away at the Wall.

He broke the seal on something from Tywin—ugh—when a soft creak broke through the quiet. One glance at the moon beyond the keep, high in the dark sky, told him it was quite late. He darted his gaze to the door, seeing a dark head peek around, followed immediately by a pony-sized white direwolf, who hurried over to the hearth. “Jon,” he called, quiet. He smiled, corners of his eyes crinkling. “You usually do not visit me this late.” _You have not visited in some time._ A fist of longing clenched his heart. He missed when his son was so small, silently coming to sit in his lap, wishing for company in the night.

Now Jon was _grown-up_ , he said. Standing all day beside him at the Iron Throne, bearing his duty the way he should, a true Targaryen. “Can I sit with you, Papa?” he asked, his tiny voice similar to Lyanna’s, the way he dragged his words together sometimes, the lilt to them.

For whatever reason, Jon always referred to him as _Papa_ , perhaps a Northern custom. Compared to Egg’s _Kepa_ or _Father_. Dany had ceased referring to him as _Kepa_ , although he knew she still viewed him as such regardless. He nodded, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Of course,” he murmured. He kept a steady gaze on his youngest child, the way he shuffled in, wearing his black nightclothes, his hands fisted at his sides.

All that was missing was the ratty fur blanket, which if Rhaegar was not mistaken, would likely be hidden between his mattress and wall. Egg teased him about it the previous year and now it was no longer found easily, but still there. He narrowed his eyes on Jon’s right thumb, the way he flicked it in and out from under his fingers, no doubt craving desperately to nibble on it or stick it between his teeth. Jon fought for a moment, shifting a bit in the chair, and finally relented against whatever was holding him back. “I could not sleep,” he whispered. He ducked his head quickly, not looking up.

“Hmm…White Walker dreams again?” He stood, walking over to the jugs and decanters, tapping around until he found what he was looking for. He sprinkled some of the herbs into a stone cup and carried it to the hearth, where an iron kettle sat, hot water always at the ready. Rhaegar poured some into the cup and carried it over, handing it to his son. Jon scowled down at it, saying nothing. He ordered: “Drink.”

“I don’t dream them anymore.” Except Jon’s pale cheeks turned pink. He sipped the drink, which was a tonic Lyanna often used when she struggled with sleep. It would knock him out soon enough, Rhaegar thought, going back to his chair and picking up the scroll he’d begun to read.

They sat quietly for some time. Rhaegar working steadily, the comforting and steady sounds of parchment crinkling, quill scratching, and the fire popping nearby filling the room. He finally finished, looking up briefly to see Jon still watching him, his gray eyes only drooping slightly. “Jon, what is it?” he murmured, finally giving in, wondering what brought the child to him that night.

Jon struggled for a moment, clearly fighting against a desire to “take it” as what his Northern teachings and impulsive dragon. He finally caved, speaking quickly, words slurring. “Will Aegon become king?”

“Yes.”

“And then it’s me, right? If he doesn’t want it, I become king?”

Rhaegar tilted his head down, nodding. “Yes.” He did not understand these questions. Jon knew Egg was the heir and he knew he was next in line. He twisted a quill around in his fist, waiting. Jon would tell him soon enough.

His son closed his eyes, mumbling, “Give it to Dany instead. Not me.”

It was not a matter of discussion regardless, it was all hypothetical. “Jon,” he sighed. He got up and went around to sit next to him on the arm of the chair, hand heavy on the boy’s thin, small shoulder. “Jon, it is not worth discussing.”

“I do not want to be king.”

“You do not have to be king. You are only in line to become king if something happens to Egg.” And I pray to the Seven that nothing ever will, he silently added, closing his eyes briefly.

“I do not want to be king,” Jon repeated, more strength this time shaking his words.

 _Humor him._ “Well,” he sighed, blowing out the word on an exhale. He turned, leaning against the desk, arms crossing over his chest. “Tell me then Jon, what do you want to be if not king?”

It was clear that Jon had not thought that far ahead. Not what he actually _wanted_ to become, but what he _didn’t_ want to become. It was a luxury Egg did not have. A luxury that _he_ did not have. They were always destined to become King. Jon had a choice. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted, frowning. “I like the North.”

“You were born in the South you know.”

“I want to find dragons.” A childish giggle pulled in the back of his throat. He stifled it, composing himself again, rather solemn. “Yes, I think would like to find some dragons.”

“Dany wants to find dragons.” That was Dany’s goal, not Jon’s. He was just repeating what she likely told him every single day.

Jon shrugged. “I can do it too.”

“Hmm, you can.” After a few quiet minutes, Rhaegar moved, taking Jon’s shoulder and lightly bringing him to his feet, walking with him over to the settee before the hearth, where Ghost was stretched out like a giant white shaggy carpet. “Jon, I imagine you and Dany will find dragons, I imagine you will do whatever you set your mind to do, but why do you not want to be king? You are so sure you do not want it, but you do not have to have it. You are lucky in that respect. Not like Egg.”

Jon pulled his knees up to his chin, his arms wrapping around them. He stared into the fire for a moment. He shrugged again, whispering. “You are always tired. There’s always people trying to take things…they steal and they hurt and you can never tell what they want or what they are doing. It isn’t real.”

 _Gods above Jon, you are far too observant for a child your age. More than all the grown men and women in the world by far._ It was exactly that. He reached over, stroking Jon’s soft, dark curls back, watching the flames crackle over his son’s thin face, the same profile as his mother. “Is that all?” he finally asked.

“If it is not Lord Tywin trying to marry Lady Cersei it is something else.” A sharp, gray glare shot his way. “My cousin Robb wrote to me. He said that my cousin Sansa wants to marry Aegon. Or me! Can you imagine! She wants to be queen. She is a child!”

 _So are you_ , Rhaegar thought. He remembered little Sansa, she was but a babe when he saw her last. She was still a babe, likely repeating whatever it was her septa said to her. About marrying princes and the like. “I am sure Robb was just teasing you.” It would be just like Robb Stark to try to scare his cousin. “You will not marry anyone in the North.”

“But I will go there, right? To stay at Winterfell with Uncle Ned?”

“Yes, it is your mother’s wish you spend some time there. Maybe a few years.”

“Dany does not want me to leave.”

“No, she does not,” agreed Rhaegar. That was certain. The entire Keep would surely suffer the day Jon rode for Winterfell. Dany would likely kill all the ravens, sending them back and forth to the North on a daily basis writing to her best friend. “She will be alright. She’s strong. She’s a dragon.”

Jon nodded. He said nothing for a few more minutes and then stood up, turning to solemnly stare at him, dropping his head. “Good night Papa.”

“Goodnight Jon. Would you like me to walk you back to your rooms?”

A look of disgust came his way this time. “No! I am grown-up now!”

Rhaegar chuckled, nodding in acknowledgment. It was sweet that Jon thought he was grown-up. The same as Rhaenys had said before she got scared of a spider in her room. Or Viserys before the wind rattled his window and he came tearing down the corridors screaming there was a ghost. They all thought they were grown-up, when they were really just children. _They should tay that way as long as possible._ He watched Jon leave, Ghost trotting after him. Jon almost did not even need a Kingsguard, with his wolf at his heels.

He waited a little while longer, staring into the fire, clearing his mind. He fiddled with his harp for a bit, to bring himself closer to sleep, and eventually left the study, hands in his pockets, walking down the corridor to his chambers. He stopped, hearing muffled crying. Immediately concerned, he hurried to where it was loudest, just outside of Dany’s door. He paused, seeing Barristan Selmy emerge from the rooms. “Is she alright?” he asked, glancing over the Kingsguard’s white-plated shoulder to the room, candles flickering a dull glow back to him.

“She claims she had a bad dream, Your Grace, and she will be fine.”

It still concerned him. Dany never cried. “Dragon dream?” he whispered, thinking of the deep dreams she sometimes had, the ones she claimed were so vivid, it was like she was looking from the outside in, seeing something that had already happened or that would happen. Sometimes he had them.

“I believe so,” Barristan admitted, after a moment’s pause. He nodded to the door, a tiny smile pulling at his lips. “She is not alone, he came almost immediately. I think he knew.”

Rhaegar did not need to know who the _he_ was, but he peeked in, to confirm, and sure enough, Jon was on the bed with Dany, holding her tight about her shoulders while she shook lightly. He had a damp cloth on her forehead, was whispering to her, comforting. _They would be just fine._ He nodded, saying goodnight to Barristan, and left Arthur outside his chamber doors, closing them quietly behind him.

Lyanna was still awake, sitting in bed, a book in her hands. She lifted her head, smiling over at him. “You finally made it.”

He crawled over her, still dressed in his boiled leather, sighing and lightly kissed her. “We have a good boy, don’t we?”

She grinned, nodding. “Yes. He is the best boy. Why do you say that? Not that I’m complaining of course.”

Rhaegar shook his head. “No reason, just…” He knew that whatever Jon would end up doing, he would do what he wanted, and what no one would make him. Unless of course that person was Dany. In which case, he imagined they’d be doing it together. He closed his eyes, head hitting his pillow, content. “No reason at all.”

**fin.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, the Kingsguard is as follows:  
> LC Ser Gerold Hightower  
> Ser Arthur Dayne  
> Ser Oswell Whent  
> Ser Jonathor Darry  
> Ser Jaime Lannister  
> Ser Barristan Selmy  
> Ser XXXXX (who knows, some random)
> 
> Ages:  
> Viserys- 15  
> Rhaenys- 13  
> Aegon- 9  
> Jon-8  
> Dany- 7


	4. growing up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna finally sees Jon after four years, but it is Dany who is really in need.

It is too cold here."

Rhaenys had been complaining most the entire journey from King's Landing up the Kingsroad. They were nearing Winterfell, would probably arrive within a few hours. Lyanna felt her heart beating so fast it was like a hoard of Dothraki screamers chasing each other in her chest. She hadn't put on a heavy cloak like the ones of Southern children Rhaenys, Egg, and Viserys. Rhaegar was trying to beat her, foregoing one as well, but she smirked at his attempt to stop shivering. Like he could will his body not to feel temperature.

He forgot that even though she spent her days now in the temperate climes of King's Landing and the warm seas of Dragonstone, she was a winter child, a Northern wolf. She closed her eyes briefly, savoring the chilly wind pushing back her hair, which she'd left loose, save a few tiny braids scattered here and there. "Winter is coming," she murmured, in answer to Rhaenys. 

The Red Dragon glowered, her dark eyes flashing indigo, like her father's. She had spent the last year in Essos, with Oberyn and his daughters the Sand Snakes. She had taken quite a liking to Volantis, with its Red Temple and had even begged her father to let her bring a Red Woman to court with her, but Rhaegar refused, knowing it would set off the Faith in a way that would probably result in bloodshed. No matter though, because Rhaenys continued to keep up with studying the Lord of Light religion and its various offshoots, announcing soon she wanted to go to Assh'ai to continue studying. She was fascinated by anything and everything that had to do with Old Valyria, Targaryen history, and the involvement of the more dangerous and fringe ideas contained in each.

Rhaenys made another face, muttering so only Lyanna could hear. "If Father dares to betroth me to one of those stinky wolves..." She let the threat lie, but Lyanna suspected Rhaenys would try to turn Rhaegar into a frog or stick a knife in him somewhere. Lyanna agreed with her; her nephews were sweet, but they could not handle Rhaenys. 

"He won't," she assured her. 

"And Dany?"

"He won't," she mumbled. There was no announcement and there had been no discussion about it since the few times she'd confessed to Rhaegar of her fear about marrying Jon and Dany off so young. It was unstated and assumed that Jon and Dany would marry each other, if that was their desire. They had been separated for four years, since Jon went to foster in the North, and Dany had been downright abominable for a good six months. She'd coped, but Lyanna would be glad when they could be together again. 

Felt like the world would make more sense. Dany without Jon at her heels had been a strange sight to grow used to and she still wasn't sure she was used to it. Egg was not one to let his little aunt boss him about and so she'd taken to Viserys, who was so done with any of the children he'd practically moved himself entirely from the Red Keep to the Water Gardens with Arianne. They would be married soon enough; she was pleased they liked each other the way they did. Viserys had experienced a lot in his first few years in the world, unlike Dany he held memories of their mother and father that haunted him, and Lyanna was grateful he'd found someone who could help chase those bad one saway.

Rhaenys shivered again, making another face. "How did you _stand_ it here?"

"Wolf's blood I suppose."

"Dragon's blood is doing nothing for me apparently." Rhaenys sat up higher in her saddle, gazing ahead towards Winterfell, which they could now see in the distance, its spires and turrets ghostly gray against the foggy air. "There it is! Gods, it looks like a ruin."

"It's certainly old enough to have become one, but Winterfell stands so long as a Stark is there," Lyanna said, repeating the adage she'd heard her entire life. _There must always be a Stark at Winterfell._ It was forbidden to wonder what might happen otherwise. She pointed, towards smoke rising from around it. "The walls are piped from hot springs, it is always warm, even in the coldest of nights."

"Like Dragonstone."

"Aye."

Rhaenys was about to say something eelse, when she almost went straight over the side of her horse, the great chestnut mare rearing in surprise as the silver came flying up the side, hooves thundering and churning dust. "Daenerys!" she screamed. "Watch it!"

The entire host seemed confused by the princess's actions, but Lyanna only laughed. She watched the silver dot that Dany made disappear, Ser Jaime trying to keep up. She dug her heels into the side of her mare, leaning over the great beast's neck. "Come, let's catch up," she murmured. 

The horse took off, Lyanna lifting in her seat to bend farther over her horse's neck, flattening herself to lift the weight off the animal as it galloped down the road, Rhaegar shouting for her to come back. She couldn't; not when her home was so close, her son within reach. She felt like a girl again, the cold air numbing her cheeks, her breath in heavy gulps, ignoring the slight sting of freezing rain droplets.

Within time, she had caught up to Dany and Jaime, whose white steed was exhausted, the gates of Winterfell within distance. She could hear the shouting, the yelling of the men along the ramparts and the heavy iron chains pulling back the massive wooden barricades. Dany blew in without preamble, with no banners or warning, startling the men who had gone out to greet her. She may as well have arrived on a dragon, the frght she gave everyone, silver hair streaming, all swirling black leather and red silks.

The household were waiting, her brother at the front, in his heavy brown furs, his face solemn and eyes dark. Beside him were his red-haired children, save for little Arya, who looked like a tiny version of Jon, her hair in braids instead of loose tangled curls. Lyanna gazed out, throwing herself from her horse, everyone bowing. She laughed, bypassing her brother immediately, her arms going around the boy who stood on his other side, his massive white wolf pointing him out. Else she would never have known this was her child.

The boy who left King’s Landing was just that—a boy. He was small, skinny, pale and slight. The cloaks he wore always seemed to swallow him, especially when compared to his brother and father, both of whom seemed to shine with their silver Targaryen hair and their violet eyes gleaming as bright as their armor. Jon always hid in the shadows. The boy was gone, she thought, tears filling her vision. Oh, he was a still a boy, he still had the baby soft face, but he was at least a foot and a half taller, his bones no longer appearing to peek through his clothes, filled out and strong. 

Lyanna cried, ignoring the fact that she was the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, gripping him so tight she smothered the air from him. “Oh my sweet boy,” she sobbed. It had been _four bloody years._ Raven messages were nothing, even if she could see his writing, feel his love, this was her _son._ She breathed into his ear, so only he could hear. “My sweet baby wolf cub.”

The same desperation, longing, and love gripped her too, his arms squeezing her tighter than a corset. "Mother," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear, whispering. "Muna."

The Valyrian word for "mother" was something he rarely used with her. It filled her with joy, her heart bursting from her chest. She wiped at her eyes, pulling back only because she could feel Daenerys closing in. If there was one who wanted to see him as much as she, it was her goodsister. She turned from him, to greet Ned, who gazed in wonder as the Princess Daenerys did not even wait for anyone to announce her before she screamed, highly undignified, and threw herself into Jon's arms, her feet lifting off the ground and legs wrapping around his waist.

Jon caught her before he could topple into the mud, surprised at the action, but he hugged her back, spinning in a circle, laughing as Dany shouted his name again, almost in tears. The day he left, they had almost had to send Dany to bed with milk-of-the-poppy, she was an absolute mess. Sobs wracked her little body, her best friend and playmate disappearing for years on her. Although she knew it had to be done, Dany did not have to like it. Not only was he gone, but so was Ghost, and who would sit with her when she had her dragon dreams? Lyanna had spent the night in her bed for weeks afterward, since all Dany wanted was someone to hug her. Rhaegar would often fall asleep in his study, with Daenerys curled up around his arm on the couch or he would wake to find that she had brought in furs and pillows to create a little nest on the floor of their bedroom. 

Now they were finally together, she thought, feeling the happiness emanating from them as they reunited. She turned to her brother, kissing his cheeks, and when finished greeting him, turned to his wife, the Lady Catelyn, who was frowning with a pursed fishy look at the behavior of Dany. "She is excited to see him, near as much as me," she explained, while also offering her hand to Catelyn. "Lady Catelyn, so good to see you again."

"Your Grace," Catelyn said, curtseying. 

"All kneel before the King of the Seven Kingdoms!"

They turned, everyone bowing again and coming to their knees as Rhaegar entered the keep. He must have galloped on ahead with the rest of the host to make such short time. Egg and Rhaenys were at his sides, both of them gazing at Winterfell in curious wonder, having never been there before. Of the family, only Dany had gone this far North. Egg would be journeying to the Wall afterward, to meet the Night's Watch and take a tour of his most remote lands. 

Lyanna gripped Ned's arm, patting his hand after all the niceties were done. "Come," she said, voice soft. She felt tears gather again, blinking them away. "Let's go see Brandon and Father."

Ned looked over his shoulder, frowning at Jon, who was now speaking with Rhaegar, laughing at something Rhaenys had said to him, his sister ruffling at his hair and Egg poking at his stomach, clearly accepting whatever jabs and insults they were throwing his direction. "But Jon," he began.

"He will be fine." She threw another glance towards him, seeing Dany watching from nearby, while Jon introduced his cousins to the Crown Prince and King. She wasn't sure what to make of her good-sister's look, but she knew the glimmer that had appeared in those violet eyes.

Something had woken the dragon.

~/~/~/~/~

“Oh gods, I forgot how cold it is here.”

“You know, Rhaenys complained of the same thing, I thought you Targaryens all had dragon’s blood?” It was a consistent tease, something Lyanna found very easy to needle her husband about. She tossed a pillow at him from her position on the bed, where she was rubbing some oils into her hands to keep them from drying out, inhaling the sweet rosy scent. 

Rhaegar made a face, still wearing a heavy cloak around him. She arched a brow, wondering if he planned to sleep in it. Would not surprise her, but still, Lyanna liked to keep her access to his fine body easy for her. The cloak would be too burdensome. “I do not understand how Daenerys is the only one who does not seem to mind the cold.”

“She must be the real dragon.” Lyanna leaned over in bed, about to ask him about the cloak, when a soft knock on the door broke her movement. She frowned; the North was almost _too_ proper in some of its behaviors, Ned especially. It was odd for someone to get as close to their chambers to knock.

Her husband went to it, shrugging a shoulder. “Perhaps it is Jon or one of the guard.”

“Jon was still with Egg when we left the hall.” The brothers claimed they hated each other, but second to Dany, Egg had been most excited to see him. “They were arguing with Robb about something.”

The door pulled back with a tired groan, the old oak swollen and heavy. On the other side stood Ser Arthur and Ser Gerold, with Dany in the middle, looking very tiny in her thick woolen gown. “I need to speak to Lyanna,” she said, voice soft. _Too soft_ , she noted, immediately concerned. The welcome feast had lasted well into the early morning hours, Dany leaving shortly before they did. She had not seemed to enjoy it, poking at her food, scowling in Jon’s direction, and if Lyanna was not mistaken, wiping at her eyes, obviously upset.

It was not the reaction she expected to see out of the fiery dragon. “ _Issa prumia_ ,” Rhaegar murmured, using the Valyrian endearment ‘my heart’ for Dany, which he only ever did when she was ill or sad. He touched his fingers to her braid, hanging limp over her shoulder, brow furrowing concerned. “What is it?”

Whatever it was, Dany would not say, shaking her head. _A woman’s matter then_ , Lyanna decided. She climbed from the bed, taking her dressing gown and wrapping it around herself. She snatched up a warm dark fur from the end of the bed, idly patting Rhaegar’s arm, reassuring him. “We will be back. Come sweet,” she gently ordered. She wrapped the fur around Dany, gathering her up, and ignoring Ser Gerold’s heavy footsteps and armor behind them, leaving the bedchambers and walking with her down the corridor.

They said nothing, until Lyanna got Dany where she wanted her, well through the keep and out to the glass gardens. It was warm inside, the blue roses glowing in the moonlight, Lyanna’s favorite place in Winterfell. She warned Gerold with one dark look, to stay back, and he nodded curtly, taking up a post outside of the gardens, giving them privacy. She sat the young girl on a stone bench, surrounded by the roses, holding her close. “What is it Daenerys?” she murmured, cocking her head, peering around into Dany’s deep violet eyes. “Please, tell me.”

A tiny sob escaped the girl. “I…I had my…my moonblood,” Dany admitted, her cheeks pinking. She buried her face in her hands. “And Jon hates me!”

 _Oh this poor child._ The horrible feeling of knowing you were a woman and there was no mother there to help you. Lyanna had experienced that. Her mother had been long dead when she’d first bled. She closed her eyes, gathering Dany in her arms, squeezing her close, and kissing her hair as the girl cried into her chest. She murmured nothings to her, comforting her. She waited for the sobs to die down, turning into hiccupping snuffles, and frowned. “Do you…do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

Dany shook her head hard. “No, I…I know what to do.”

“It is a bloody curse, no joking meant,” Lyanna sighed. She shook her head, scowling. “Men claim it means we are now women, but I should like to see them experience it. They would die from the first pain in their stomach. They would never want to carry a child, would be unable to do so. There would be no people left in the world.” 

The words did what she wanted, a little smile curving on Dany’s lips. “I suppose.”

“I want you to know that just because of this, you will not be married to immediately have children.”

“I know. Rhaenys didn’t.” Dany fiddled with the end of the fur, sighing hard, a stray tear falling off her cheek. She scowled. “Rhaegar could marry me off, if he wanted to.”

“Only when you want him to. To someone you want.” Lyanna wondered where the _Jon hates me_ comment came into play. She mulled over it a moment, figuring it best to just ask. “And um, why…why do you think Jon hates you?” She hurried, explaining. “Because you were so happy to see him. It has been four years…you both were so upset to separate…”

“Because,” Dany interrupted her, snapping. She glared sideways; her eyes almost black. “He would rather spend time with Egg and Robb Stark and that horrid Theon Greyjoy. He told me to _go away_. He speaks of…of the North and the Starks and I just…” She sniffed once more, the fiery look disappearing as soon as it lit in her eyes. She shook her head, sobbing. “I do not know him anymore! I hate him too!”

The first heartbreak was in some ways the absolute worst. Lyanna remembered hers. She had fallen in love—she was absolutely certain it was love—with the blacksmith’s son. She wanted to marry him, she prayed to the gods that they could be together, that he would love her with the fervor she loved him. They would marry in the godswood, have children, and she would live a simple life. Until she saw him kissing one of the stablehand’s daughters. She remembered thinking she would never marry again. Seven hells, she might even switch religions and go become a septa or a silent sister. She would abjure all men. 

It was a young girl’s heart that broke that day. Lyanna grew, realizing her heart had grown with her, and she had been foolish to think that that blacksmith’s boy loved her like that. It was so painful though; she could still feel the stinging. That whiplash at seeing him with someone else.

 _Poor Daenerys, so much at the same time._ No doubt her emotions were all over the place to begin with, now Jon…they were growing up. Jon was growing up too. He had spent four years in the company of Robb Stark and Ned and all the men of Winterfell. She wiped Dany’s tears gently, stroking her hair, kissing her forehead, and rocking with her on the stone bench among the blue roses, letting her cry out her anger and her confusion.

Eventually, Dany’s tears died away. “I hate him,” she repeated, in between little coughs. “I want to go to Essos. I want to go with Rhaneys when she goes there. I want to go to Dorne and stay with Viserys and Arianne.”

It would be so easy to run away. “I ran away too,” Lyanna murmured, thinking of what she’d done with Rhaegar. That was an oversimplified way of explaining what she’d done. The terrible things she’d done in the name of love. She shivered, clutching Dany tighter. “It does not make things go away; it only puts them off. Let’s them fester. Jon is just a silly boy. Give him time.”

“No, I will not.”

 _There’s that dragon temper again._ Lyanna sighed, nodding absently. “Well…I will speak to Rhaegar about it.”

After a time, Dany fell asleep against her, wrapped in the fur. Lyanna carefully moved, lying her back down onto the bench, and went to get Gerold. He carried the princess back up to her rooms, setting her in her bed, and once she was wrapped back up in furs, her boots off, and her face somewhat cleaned of her sticky dried tears, Lyanna went back to her chambers, and to Rhaegar.

He shifted under the pile of furs, just the barest flicker of silver indicating to her that he was even there at all. It was like a fur boulder had taken up residence on her bed. “You back?” he murmured, slurring.

“You fell asleep?”

“No,” he lied. He yawned, sticking his head up from the pile. He looked adorable half-asleep. The same look Jon had when he woke up, as a little babe. Lyanna wiped at the stray tear that managed to escape her. _Gods, perhaps my moonblood is on the way_ , she thought to herself. 

She took off her dressing gown and her boots, going to climb into the bed. She hissed at the scorching heat. “Gods! Rhaegar did you put hot coals in here?”

“No!” Once more, she noted that he was lying. He smiled sheepishly, ducking his head. “I may have put a hot pan of coals under the sheets for a bit.”

“It is _not_ that cold.”

“So you say, wolf girl.” 

Lyanna propped her head on her hand, turning to face him. She nibbled her lower lip, knowing Dany hadn’t promised her not to say anything, but she felt like hse was breaking some sort of woman’s code. She frowned, reaching to play with a leather rope Rhaegar wore around his neck with the onyx stone that Rhaenys had given him when she was small. It was from Dragonstone, a piece of dragonglass. She fingered it, whispering. “Dany told me she had her first moonblood.”

What little color was in Rhaegar’s face drained. “Oh,” he croaked. He looked highly uncomfortable, shifting again. “Um…well…”

“Do not worry, I spoke with her. She’s alright.” 

“Well then.” He swallowed hard, still ashen. He stared up at the thick dark blue canopy above the bed. He shook his head, murmuring. “My baby sister…a woman? I do not know what to do with that information.”

“Rhaenys has been a woman for some time. She’s your daughter.”

“She’s Rhaenys, she…I was not alright with it then either…she had Arianne and Ellaria with her and the Sand Snakes and…” Rhaegar closed his eyes. Lyanna understood; it was a little different. Rhaenys had a different relationship with him than he did with Dany. Rhaenys never needed to crawl into his bed at all hours of the night to deal with her dreams. Rhaenys was her father’s daughter in that they would spend all their time in books, reading and playing the harp, and they would go riding together among the smallfolk, playing music. Rhaenys would go to Dorne for months on end, but Dany was always in King’s Landing with Rhaegar. 

She covered his chest, her fingers lightly digging into his tunic, knowing that just underneath was the horrid mark from Robert’s hammer, and beneath that Rhaegar’s beating heart. She was glad it was still beating. As was hers. “Rhaenys knows what she wants, I think, is what you are trying to say,” she deduced. 

“And Dany doesn’t.”

“Dany is only two and ten years, Rhaegar. She isn’t _supposed_ to know what she wants.” _”Besides”_ , Lyanna felt like adding, _”if she were not a princess and you were not her guardian, she would be married off by tomorrow morning.”_ She took a deep breath, shaking her head on the pillow, moving to curl closer to him. 

“What else did you talk about?”

 _Our son._ She shook her head. “It’s between her and I, Rhaegar. Women’s talk.”

“She seemed upset at dinner.”

“She was upset Jon did not want to spend time with her.”

“She should get in line, he wanted nothing to do with either of us.” Rhaegar scoffed. “Dare I say he was even _embarrassed_ by our presence! Reminds me of how Rhaenys used to be. Also Viserys. Ugh, and Egg too. They all act like that. Suppose Dany will next.”

To their absolute horror, their son was growing up. Lyanna closed her eyes, burrowing against him, even if he felt like a damn inferno. “They aren’t babes anymore,” she murmured. The thought caused her heart to ache.

Rhaegar cuddled her tighter. “No, I suppose they are not.”

“Next thing will be their marriages…their babies.”

“Do not say such things,” he muttered. He kissed her brow. “We are too young for that.”

“Hmm, well it’s coming Rhaegar Targaryen, King of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“I would rather tell Olenna Tyrell to keep her opinions to herself than deal with my children having children.”

Lyanna snorted. “Anyone who does that would like to see a rose thorn in their eye.”

“Well, even so, perhaps we should just go to sleep.” He sighed hard. “Your brother has us awake with the damn sun.”

“ _Winter is coming_ ,” she droned. Rhaegar chuckled, but Lyanna was only half-joking. She lay awake, while he fell asleep, thinking of Daenerys and of her son and how the times were changing, whether they wanted them to or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Rhaegar has to have a little “talk” with his son. Also Dany attacks Jon— thanks to Egg and his big mouth....
> 
> Ages:  
> Dany- 12  
> Jon- 13  
> Egg- 14  
> Rhaenys- 18


	5. teenage angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teenage angst is in the air-- Dany loses it when Egg lets something slip about Jon; Rhaegar makes Jon and Dany hash it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's all understand something-- this is fluff and there's little to no plot. Things may not make sense politically speaking, but that is not what this fic is, so...yeah. Although ages are fudged for some of the other characters. I don't like creating new characters so I prefer to throw in ones that we already know, sometimes that words and sometimes it doesn't.
> 
> Enjoy!

"I think we need to talk."

Rhaegar barely glanced up from a text, holding a finger aloft to pause his wife so he could finish the sentence. "Hang on," he murmured, following the words to the end of the paragraph, his mind switching quickly from the Valyrian on the worn page to Common Tongue in his head, murmuring softly to himself to remember where he was for when he returned.

Except it didn't matter, because Lyanna leaned over and snatched the book from him, throwing it to the side with a heavy "thunk" as it hit the floor, barely missing the hearth. He gasped, staring in horror. "Lyanna! That book is over five hundred years old! The Maesters will..."

"Fuck the Maesters, we need to talk."

 _Uh oh_. Rhaegar immediately switched from the fascinating world of Valyria he'd been reading about to his wife, who was snarling, her teeth gnashing and her gray eyes practically black. He swallowed the lump in his throat, hoping whatever it was, he had nothing to do with it. "What has happened?" he asked, dragging his words slowly. It was a technique he had learned over the years to calm her down. If he took forever to speak, she had to wait...sometimes. Sometimes it meant she would calm in the interim.

Lyanna walked over, leaning against the desk, arms crossing over her chest. She squinted her gray eyes to him; her brow furrowed. "I just spoke with Ashara Dayne."

As Ashara was one of her best friends and the sister of his best friend, this did not come as news to him. "And I spoke with Arthur," he said, shrugging. "What is the issue?"

"She walked in on something."

 _Oh gods._ He closed his eyes, whispering. "What did Rhaenys do now?" The last time this happened he'd had to have an almost day-long meeting in the Sept of Baelor with the High Septon and it was horrible. Assuring him that Rhaenys and her devotion to the Lord of Light and whoever else she prayed to had nothing to do with the crown's following of the Faith of the Seven. Not that he gave two shits who prayed to whatever deity they believed it. His daughter wanted to study the mystical arts of Old Valyria and Essos, his one son barely paid attention in his studies with a septon and probably couldn't even name all seven gods, and his other son preferred to speak to trees.

Rhaegar did not judge.

"What?" Lyanna was momentarily startled. She shook her head. "No, no it wasn't Rhaenys. She walked in on our son!"

"Who walked in?"

"Ashara!"

"Where?"

"Stables."

"What son?"

" _OUR SON!_ "

"Our son?"

"Aye!"

"Doing what?"

Lyanna growled. "Kissing."

"Kissing?"

"Aye.”

“Kissing who?”

“A girl."

"And?"

"And?" Lyanna flapped her hands, glaring at him. "Rhaegar! Our son! Jon! Sweet Jon! Kissing a girl! One those beloved Free Folk of his! I told you it was going to be a disaster, bringing them down from beyond the Wall! Not because of anything political, oh no, because Jon was caught with one of them about to do gods only knows what! Ashara went to stables, heard a noise coming from near her mare, and there they were, rolling about in the hay!"

Well, this was a very new development. Rhaegar scratched at his chin, not finding it all that upsetting, given that his sons were of an age where they were more interested in the opposite sex than they ever had been before. They still struggled a bit with the whole _I cannot spend time with girls because they are girls and we are not_ and the whole _However, girls are pretty and well..._ feelings. He remembered the face that Egg always made when everyone brought up marriage and heirs. It was as if they asked him to go switch Walder Frey's chamber pot. Now Egg was whispered about in the corridors, and he downright preened over it, even encouraging it with flirtatious behavior—unbecoming of the Crown Prince, but most of it was harmless. Rhaegar wasn't entirely stupid. He heard the maids talk—Egg had the fine Valyrian features but his mother's coppery skin, his eyes bright and his hair usually tousled, never quite sitting flat. He had been training more with the sword as well. Even though Jon was the one most likely to be found in the yard.

IT was curious to him that it would be _Jon_ though caught in the stables with a girl. He thought of the Free Folk, the small group Jon had all but begged him to bring down to Winterfell, to speak with the Northern lords and to request that he give them a large portion of the North to settle, even if they did not kneel. A few of them had traveled on, apparently now close with his son, and Jon had wanted to show them King's Landing. The North had been apoplectic at the Prince of Winter even going beyond the Wall with a group of Night's Watchmen but bringing the _wildlings_ over was going too far. It had practically started a war, but between Rhaegar, Lyanna, Ned Stark, and Maege Mormont—the current Lady of Bear Island—they got the North to back down. Rhaegar suspected that Jon wanted his Free Folk friends in King's Landing to keep him company, but he said nothing about it beyond trying to justify their presence as merely a political move. Not that it was a large contingent; just a beautiful young woman named Val, a giant man with flaming red hair by the name of Tormund, and a few others .

They were planning to journey back North soon—Jon had been trying to get him to approve of him going with them. He supposed he'd have to; he just didn't want his son to disappear beyond the Wall like it seemed Jon desperately wanted. It was his wolf's blood, Rhaegar suspected. It seemed it was more than that, if he was caught now with the wildling girl. He screwed up his face, closing his eyes. "I suppose I will need to talk to him."

"I suppose you will." Lyanna smoothed her hand over her skirt, her fur ruffled. If she were a wolf, her ears would be flicking back, her hackles raised, and pawing the dirt. "I am too young to have grandchildren."

The thought terrified him as well. Even Rhaenys was at the age where he supposed she should be married, even if she was in Essos with her daggers and magics— the young new Lord of Starfall, Edric Dayne, was most enamored by her and Rhaenys often spoke of him. He suspected he'd have to speak with Ashara about a betrothal, if Rhaenys was willing. He shivered; then there was the fact that Viserys and Arianne were married. They had absolutely zero interest in producing children, but soon enough he suspected there would be an heir for the Martells. Viserys quite liked that Arianne took on the ruling duties now, since Doran finally succumbed to his crippling gout and general malaise.

He stood, moving to assure her that things would be fine, that he'd speak with Jon, the Free Folk would be going back to the North, and everything could go back to what constituted as _normal_ for their strange family, when there came a quick knock at the door. "Enter!" he called, moving to peer around Lyanna.

The door pushed open, a harried Arthur leaning in. "Your Grace," he greeted, taking a deep breath, gesturing. "There's something I think you need to see."

Lyanna and he exchanged a quick, concerned look. His heart pounding, fearing the worst, Rhaegar hurried around the desk, striding with Arthur down the corridor to the large meeting area where the family usually tried to spend evenings together after supper-- that hadn't been the case in quite some time, not since the children were well, children. They reached the balustrade, looking out onto the yard, Arthur pointing silently.

His eyes widened, while beside him Lyanna made a strange half-laugh, half-gasp. In the area where normally one might find Egg or Jon sparring with each other, his youngest son had out his Valyrian steel sword Longclaw—gifted by House Mormont after Jon had impressed Jeor Mormont, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch—trying to fend off the Valyrian steel spear that Daenerys wielded. Her spear came from Essos, a priceless gift from one of the Magisters there attempting to curry favor with the Crown gave her. The steel clanged loudly, almost drowning out the shouts from Jon, who dodged the rather close jabs from Dany and the angry screams from Dany.

He shook his head, astounded. "What the Seven..."

"No one knows, the Prince was sparring with Ser Barristan when Princess Daenerys came attacking him. Ser Barristan tried to stop them, but he did not want to get an ear cut off and had to get out of the way. No one dares try to intervene," Arthur explained.

Despite the fact that the Kingsguard were required to protect the royal bloodline at all costs, even their life, it didn't apparently count to protect them from _each other._ He winced as Jon jumped out of the way, Dany's spear sliding under his feet as she spun, diving for him. They were almost using their fists now! "Gods," he muttered, spinning from the window and hurrying away.

Behind him, he heard Arthur continuing to explain. "She just went off on him, Your Grace, no one knows. Shouted something about how he was a well, a _bastard_ and then attacked."

"I know why," Lyanna announced, rather loudly.

He glanced over his shoulder, scowling. "You do?"

"Hmm, of course I do."

 _Of course_. Nevermind, he left the Keep, blowing into the yard, and dove towards his little sister, hauling her around her waist and lifting her clear into the air, her little feet kicking at nothing while she shouted and used a few choice swear words in Valyrian. Barristan took the opportunity to grab her spear, which she'd dropped, and Arthur got hold of Jon, who was still swinging Longclaw. "Let go of me!" Dany bellowed. "I'm going to kill him!"

To his shock, there were tears in her eyes, the purple bright and hot. "What in the seven hells is going on?" he demanded, finally placing her feet back in the dirt, glaring between her and his son. Arthur had one hand now on Jon's shoulder, his son's normally pale face bright pink. His dark curls were sweaty, falling out of the topknot he kept them in, the Northern style. He had a slight shadow along his jaw, which Rhaegar had never really noticed. It must have been the look in his gray eyes, chips of iron, glaring at Dany, smoke almost furling from his nostrils while his wolf teeth gnashed. It was a formidable combination.

He let go of Daenerys completely, satisfied that she would not charge at Jon again. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing dirt along her cheek. "I hate you," she spit at Jon.

He snarled. "Well I hate you too!"

"Fuck off!"

"You first!"

"Jon!" Lyanna roared.

He closed his eyes, wishing to the gods that he had a war or something he could fight. This one seemed unwinnable. He rubbed at his achy chest, moving over to his son, taking his shoulder from Arthur. "Come," he ordered. "I wish to speak with you." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lyanna reach for Dany, who shrugged her off, stomping away, while Barristan carried her spear. He gave his wife a sympathetic look but knew if there was anyone who could help Dany right then, it was Lyanna.

In silence, they walked away, Jon leading him. He trailed after, realizing that they were going to the godswood. There were no weirwood trees, but the area remained closed off for purposes of prayer for Lyanna and any followers of the Old Gods. It was always silent in the space, the entire bustle of the keep, the chaos of King's Landing instantly diminished when you entered the cocoon of trees and hedges. He stopped, waiting for Jon to say something. His son went and sat down on a bench, drawing Longclaw over his knees. He reached into his pocket, removing a cloth, and began to carefully wipe down the precious steel.

"Where is Ghost?" he asked, curious at why the direwolf had not bene in the yard.

"Hunting."

"I see." He waited, but Jon said nothing. The sound of the cloth whispering along the steel was the only noise. After a moment, Rhaegar released a long sigh. "Jon, I do not want to have to order you as your King to explain to me what happened, but I will." Jon would never disobey an order.

His shoulders stiffened. "I don't know. I was sparring, she came up screaming at me in Valyrian. Saying something about how she hated me, I was a bastard, I betrayed her, and she was never going to speak to me. She wasted too much time, she thought there was more. I don't know." He lifted his gray eyes, sullen once more. "So dumb. She's a stupid girl."

 _Stupid girl, hmm..._ He thought of what Lyanna had come to tell him, about the wildling girl. He wasn't sure how to address it, his hands clenching at his sides. He released another breath again. They would speak on it later. First, he wanted to know what Lyanna meant with "I know" as they'd gone out to the fight. He nodded. "Very well then. I'll leave you to it, but your aunt is not a stupid girl and you of all people should know that." He waited another moment. "You two hardly ever fight."

Except his departure to Winterfell had shifted their relationship. They weren't as close anymore. He remembered finding them hugging each other in their little cots, chasing each other around the nursery. One could never be found without the other. Ice and fire. Winterfell shifted that, Jon was different, as was Dany. Jon shrugged, lifting his chin slightly, rather arrogant. "Well we aren't the same. We're not babies anymore Father."

 _No you are not babies anymore at all._ Rhaegar felt the ache in his chest again, although this time it wasn't from his old injury.

~/~/~/~

Supper that evening was probably one of the worst they had had in quite some time, Rhaegar believed, trying to finish his glass of wine, if only so he could sleep like the dead. He wanted to forget the daggers his sister shot at his son, who stabbed at his dinner like it was an enemy and not something to ingest. Rhaenys had been thoroughly amused, trying to get it out of each of them why they were hating on each other, and Egg was torn between supporting his sister and trying to keep his profile low, since when they weren’t glaring at each other, Jon and Dany were trying to kill him with their gazes.

He dismissed every one of them, ordering them as _their bloody king_ and not just their father and brother, to go to their chambers and not leave until sunup. “Why me?” Rhaenys demanded. “I didn’t do anything!”

“You’re enjoying it,” he said, by way of explanation. Rhaenys muttered a curse at him in Valyrian, storming off, and he only partially believed she would really curse him.

He closed his eyes, a headache raging behind them. The wine would not help the ache, until he was asleep. He heard Lyanna enter the study. “You said you knew what that was all about?” he croaked. His throat was sandy. He opened one eye towards her, slumped in his chair, tunic laces loose about his neck and his boots kicked off. He felt like a terrible, lazy king in that moment. Except he was not really king, he was an exhausted and confused father. “Care to explain?”

“Our son is coming into his own.” It was all she said. She took the wine from him, sipping it and settling into his lap. He draped his arm over her thighs, her skirt falling open around her hips, revealing her ever-present riding leathers. It was a fashion Dany had taken to wearing when she realized the usefulness of it. Always ready to mount her horse and speed off into the Kingswood, that was Lyanna, and now Daenerys. Her gray eyes twinkled; she was thoroughly bemused. “For not only has he been kissing the Free Folk girl Val, I found out from Rhaenys that Egg caught him with _another_ Free Folk girl, when they went to the Wall together.”

“The Wall?” he exclaimed. That was near a year ago! They had gone up there, for Egg to see the northernmost parts of his kingdom, to meet with Jeor Mormont, and Jon had been excited to show them. In fact, the entire journey up, he had been almost _too_ animated about it all. And… _oh._ Understanding dawned. Rhaegar blinked. “Oh.”

“Hmm, _oh._ ”

“Our son seems to have a thing for these Free Folk girls.”

Lyanna tossed her dark curls over her shoulder, a bit prideful. “Well he has the blood of the North. The true North. Jon likes women who are independent, sure of themselves, and not afraid to get dirty. Just like his father it seems.”

He huffed. “I suppose.” He scowled, still not clear on Egg’s role in this debacle. “So Egg saw them?”

“Aye, Egg saw them and from what Rhaenys gathered, after he learned of Jon’s little thing in the stables early today, took it upon himself to let Dany know. Egg seems to believe he was, ah, _betrayed_ by his brother.” Lyanna chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Egg fancied Val, you see.”

“Oh gods.” Now his sons were mad at each other over a girl. Rhaegar needed to send the Free Folk home _immediately._ Whether Jon wanted them to or not. He rubbed the back of his neck, still confused. “And Dany got angry because…”

“Oh Rhaegar.” Lyanna rolled her eyes again; he did not understand what was so exasperating. “Daenerys fancies Jon. She was jealous and upset, her heart hurts.”

 _This is so bloody complicated._ He took the wine cup from her fingers, draining the goblet. It burned his throat, going to his head, which throbbed harder. “I should just announce their impending marriage and be done with it,” he grumbled. _I am the bloody King of the Seven Kingdoms._ Not that his family seemed to care.

The head shake he received from his wife did not make any sense. He opened his mouth to demand _why not_ , but Lyanna explained. “Not with hearts involved you won’t. You will just make them resentful. They need to figure this on their own.” She took the goblet, putting it on the desk, patted his leg, and hopped off his lap. “Go speak with your son. I will not have him running about with girls and nonsense where anyone can see.”

“Fine.” Rhaegar got up, sulking, and left the study, Arthur joining him on the walk down the corridor to Jon’s rooms. He paused outside the door, taking a deep breath and glanced at his best friend in the world. He arched a brow. “Would you like to have this talk with him?”

“I think not Your Grace. I do not envy you.”

Rhaegar rolled his eyes, knocking lightly on the door. “Then wipe that smirk off your face Arthur.”

“Of course Your Grace.”

The door swung open, Jon on the other side. He looked angry. Then again, he often looked angry. It was his sullen nature. As a child it had seemed a cute, now it just made him look as though he were going to attack anyone who dared upset him. “Father,” he said, although it was more of a grunt. He stepped back, allowing him entry.

Rhaegar entered his rooms, spying Ghost taking up the entirety of the bed. The wolf’s tail thumped hard on the pillows, his tongue lolling out like a common pup. He scratched at his ears, murmuring in Valyrian. “You lucky wolf, what I wouldn’t give to just lay about all day with nothing to do.”

Jon spoke from behind him. “You could you know, you are the King.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Your Valyrian is coming along.” Jon never did pick it up the way that Viserys, Dany, Rhaenys, and Egg all had. He walked over to the settee in front of the fireplace, gesturing for his son to join. He did as bid, slumping, clearly anticipating a reprimand. Rhaegar didn’t know how to do this. He supposed he should; he just hadn’t had to go there yet with Egg. He sighed, almost defeated. “Jon, I will not have you running about with girls in the Keep where anyone can see you. You are a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, you have an image to maintain. You need to be careful.”

“It was just Val.”

“I do not care who it was, if it was anyone other than Ashara who found you, we could have problems.”

Jon rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, slouching again. “I hate being Prince.” He glanced sideways again, his eyes almost indigo in the flickering firelight. His voice was almost a whisper. “I know what they say about me. They call me _Jon Snow._ Bastard. They do not think your marriage to Mother is valid. I do not want that for a child. I refuse to father bastards. All it will ever be is kissing. Nothing more.”

The comments behind his back, Rhaegar knew, he heard them too. He closed his eyes, sighing hard. He hated that part of being King, of what he’d done, his mistakes. He reached over, squeezing his son’s hand tight. “You are not a bastard. I do not care what any of them say. You are my son. You are my son the same as Egg is my son. You have my name. Targaryen. You are Jon of House Targaryen; you are the blood of the dragon.” He felt his heart lift in his chest, the pride flowing through his veins. “You are the blood of the wolf, of the First Men and of Old Valyria. You are not a bastard.”

It did not seem to matter to the young boy; Jon might have thought he was a man now, but he was still a child to Rhaegar. He lifted his gaze, tired, and his dark curls pulled from his face. It looked drawn, exhausted. “Egg has a big mouth; he never should have told Dany.”

“You hurt her.”

“I don’t know why!”

“You need to speak to her,” Rhaegar ordered. It was the only way. They had to get this out of their systems, through words instead of weapons. He sighed hard. “You both have been together from the moment I brought her to this keep. You were both so tiny, so close…sending you to Winterfell was necessary, but I did not realize the divide that would occur between you. She’s hurt Jon.”

“But why? I just kissed some girls.”

 _You know nothing, my son._ He sighed again; he was not the best person to speak to about this. Perhaps Lyanna needed to have a chat with her son too. He patted his shoulder. “Jon, I do not pretend to know anything about women, but what I know is that Dany is hurt. You being gone as long as you were, she missed you and since you have come back from Winterfell, you still are somewhere else, and she still misses you.” He stood, gazing down at the boy. Everything seemed so confusing, so muddled, at this age. He dropped his hand to Jon’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “You do not want to father bastards, I understand, but whatever you do Jon, know that you are still a boy. You are only ten and four years. You still have a little more left to grow before you marry and have sons of your own.”

Jon jerked his head up, brow wrinkled. “Will you promise me something?”

“Promise?”

“When you marry me off, at least let me know before you tell the world.” Jon rolled his eyes. “So I can at least meet her first you know.”

Rhaegar chuckled; with all his children he had made the very unusual and often derided decision to allow them to, in a sense, choose their own mates. He wondered if it was the blood of his ancestor Alysanne, whose penchant for matching couples across the kingdoms coming through, but he had a sense of some things. Rhaenys and Edric Danye were close, he would approach her about that marriage soon. Robb Stark would likely marry Margaery Tyrell, giving the barren North a connection to the fertile lands of the south.

It was Egg who concerned him; he did not know what the future king wanted, or who. As for his youngest…he gazed back down at Jon, who was staring into the fire, consumed with his thoughts. He sighed. “Daenerys will likely go to Essos with Viserys and Arianne soon. I believe within a couple of months.” It was necessary; she wanted to learn more about the East, to understand her Valyrian heritage, and to explore. Daenerys was a conqueror, always had been.

That did it. Jon leaped to his feet; his fists clenched at his sides. Panic filled his eyes, darkening them further. “No! For how long?”

“As long as she wants.” Rhaegar cocked his head, murmuring. “I thought you did not care for her anymore?”

“I don’t! She’s mad!”

All Rhaegar did was murmur an acknowledgment of his son’s words. He quirked his lip up, amused. “She is a dragon.”

“Well so am I!”

“And you are a wolf.”

Jon was about to say something else, when the door shook with a heavy knock. Ghost jumped off the bed, tail wagging, pawing at the hinges. It opened, Dany stepping into the room. She wore a simple red dress, her silver hair in a thick braid over her shoulder. She dropped one hand immediately to Ghost, who leaned up against her, eyes closing to slits, almost shivering in happiness at her appearance. “I need to speak to Jon,” she said, directing her sharp eyes to Rhaegar. She wrinkled her nose. “Please.”

“I was just leaving,” he said, striding to the door. He glanced at his sister, chuckling. “Do not kill him, I quite love my son.”

He exited the room, Arthur following. Instead of returning to his rooms with Lyanna, he led Arthur around the corner. Maegor’s Holdfast was a cavern of twisting corridors, staircases, turrets, and passageways, with many hidden rooms, halls, and curious little alcoves with no real purpose. Except Maegor always had a purpose. Rhaegar knew he was vicious and cruel, but he was highly intelligent, and those little alcoves did in fact have a purpose. He found the one that was just on the other side of a wall to Jon’s room, stepping into it and listening closely.

He could hear as clear as if they were standing right beside him, what Jon and Dany were saying, if you just removed one of the bricks. Lyanna had discovered it when Jon was about six years, although how, Rhaegar never asked. He listened close, their whispers slightly muffled.

Until Dany spoke a little louder. “It will be for a couple years. Maybe I will return, maybe I will not.”

“I do not want you to leave.”

“You do not care about me.”

“I do too!”

“Then why were you kissing the Free Folk girl? Val? Or that one at the Wall, the one Egg told me about, what was her name?”

Jon mumbled, clearly embarrassed. “Ygritte.”

“Egg said you did not even like her!”

“She bullied me to doing it. I didn’t want to.”

“But you didn’t complain.”

“Well…no.”

They spoke for a little bit about this Ygritte girl, who by all accounts was incredibly pushy, did not care Jon was a Prince, and had challenged him about never kissing a girl at his age, so he did it to shut her up. Rhaegar had to chuckle at that; it was something Lyanna would do. It seemed he did like Val, he thought she was very pretty and kind and she did not treat him like a Prince. Except she was Free Folk and he was not and she belonged Beyond the Wall and she did not want to be in King’s Landing anymore, as much as she did like him. “As a friend,” Jon said. “That is what she told me.”

Dany seemed mollified. “Well, alright then.”

“What will I do while you are in Essos?”

“I do not know, but you will have to find something to do.”

“What are you going to do there?”

“I don’t know, find dragon eggs, I always said I would.”

Jon mumbled something to her; Rhaegar barely caught it, but it sounded like an “I’m sorry.”

Whatever happened after, he left them be, glad that his son had done the right thing and apologized for his behavior to his aunt and best friend. He left them, returning to his chambers, and glad to find Lyanna had poured him a mug of hot water, and she was just sprinkling in the spice mixture he liked. “It is done,” he announced.

“What is?”

“Whatever it is that is going on between them. They are speaking now.” He recounted his conversation with Jon to her, which seemed to satisfy her, especially when he said how Jon worried about fathering a bastard, and he would not do that. She leaned against him, her head in the crook of his shoulder, her arms looped around his. He closed his eyes, whispering. “It was so much easier when they were babies and would crawl up into my lap while I was working.”

“It will get easier,” she murmured, even if Rhaegar did not think she fully believed her words. Lyanna patted his chest, taking the mug from him and leaning to place it on the bedside table. “Go to sleep Rhaegar. Remember, tomorrow you and Egg are meeting with Stannis Baratheon.”

“Oh gods. Did he bring his wife?”

“And his young daughter, I hear she is quite sweet.”

“Maybe Egg will take a liking to her, that’s all I need, a Targaryen and a Baratheon.” He chuckled, amused at his own joke. He rested his head on her pillow, arms wrapping around her tight, sighing into her shoulder blades. “I do not know how I got through this with Rhaenys and Viserys.”

Lyanna smiled. “But you did.”

“Yes but I feel Jon and Dany are worse.”

“Hmm, I cannot really disagree there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: Two years later...Lyanna is very curious at Jaime Lannister's sudden behavior around Dany-- seems like he's hiding something....but what? Rhaegar makes an announcement to the realm.


	6. secret lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna suspects Jaime Lannister is up to no good with Daenerys. Little does she know...

Something was going on with Jaime Lannister.

It was not obvious to those who were not looking, but if you were, well, it was as clear as day. It might as well be wearing a sign around its neck, Lyanna thought, glancing sideways from her spot at the right of Rhaegar, ignoring whatever was going on in front of her and focusing on the youngest of the Kingsguard. She had never quite trusted Jaime the way Rhaegar had. Perhaps it was her family’s less than cordial relationship with the Lannisters, the nastiness of Jaime’s beloved twin Cersei enough to taint Lyanna’s opinion of the young knight.

It had been Jaime who killed Aerys, saving gods knew how many people. He bore the moniker “Kingslayer” as a result. Many continued to look down on him, although Rhaegar and Lyanna knew the truth of why he’d done what he’d done. Rhaegar had admitted to her that he would have had to murder his father himself, if Jaime had not done it first. 

She kept her hands folded in front of her, the heavy silver and sapphire crown she wore digging grooves into her temples. It was exhausting, standing here for hours on end, listening to the whining and complaining of the highborn, when she would rather have listened to the smallfolk. Unfortunately, today was a day for the highborn to come to court and complain, begging the King for assistance in what ultimately amounted to trivial matters. Tomorrow they would be entertaining the smallfolk; it was the one thing getting her through the day. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Lyanna saw Jaime shift towards Daenerys, the move subtle, only noticed by her. She squinted, wolf eyes sharp, noticing Dany’s smile up to the knight, the way she unconsciously turned towards him. _This is not good_ , she deduced, observing Jaime’s posture towards her. It was too familiar. He had been on Daenerys’s protection since she went to Essos, requesting to Ser Gerold that he remain on it permanently. There was not an official assignment of the knights to each member of the family, but Gerold as the Lord Commander liked to ensure that if a member of the family preferred one or the other, their wishes were accommodated as best as possible. 

It was always Barristan watching over Jon, Jonathor on Egg’s protection, and Arthur almost exclusively with Rhaegar. Oz was usually with her, for she got along well with him. Always had, since he’d been with her while she was pregnant with Jon, alone in that damn tower, away from Aerys’s grasp. Jaime and Daenerys…she pursed her lips, pressing them tight enough to drain the blood from them, disapproving immensely. 

The tour of Essos had done wonders for Daenerys. She returned happy, healthy, and full of ideas and stories. She had picked up Dothraki, earning the nickname _Khaleesi_ , and even brought with her two new friends, a young former Unsullied fighter named Grey Worm and a beautiful young woman from Naath named Missandei. They were former slaves; Dany had freed them. She was on a quest to eradicate the entire slave trade, something she had spent hours with Rhaegar discussing, wanting to find a way to make it happen, even if she was a Princess of Westeros and not a Queen in Essos.

“Maybe I will be a queen there one day instead of a princess here,” she challenged him, when Rhaegar brought up that fact.

On her other side, Jon stood, his gray eyes drooping closed in fatigue. He had nothing to be tired about, silly boy, she thought, her ribs straining in her corseted gown. Even with armor there was no way he could be as uncomfortable as her. She moved very carefully to the side, not wanting to draw attention, and slipped her hand over, poking him hard in the side, jostling him. He startled, blinking quickly. She glared sideways, resulting in a sheepish response from him, and he straightened, stifling a yawn. Even Ghost looked tired beside him. 

Lyanna glanced towards Dany again, scowling. She was leaning towards Jaime Lannister, murmuring something to him. _What is that all about?_ Once they finished with court, Rhaegar would meet with the Small Council, which included her. She would have to find out what was going on later. It bothered her, not knowing everything going on within the Keep. Rhaegar sometimes enjoyed being absolutely oblivious to the goings-on, but she needed to know, if only for survival. 

Also because the children could not be trusted. Too many emotions, tempers, and brains that thought they knew best. Thank the Gods Rhaenys had gone to Starfall, to be with the Daynes before the wedding in a few months’ time, or else they would have even more dramatic behavior on their hands. Daenerys, Egg, and Jon were enough. 

Time moved slowly, like honey dripping from a spoon. Once the final lord had gotten to their feet, everyone hailing Rhaegar, did he stand, wincing barely. She swept by Jon, who hurried off somewhere, and tried to spot Dany, but all she saw was the golden head of Jaime Lannister whisking around the corner with a swish of his white cloak. _Hmm…._

“Rhae,” she announced, ignoring the presence of Lady Olenna, Varys, Lord Tyrion, and her brother Ned, all of whom were standing around him, unwilling to wait to discuss events from the last six or seven hours. She arched a slim dark eyebrow, her fingers gripping one of Rhaegar’s gauntlets. “Excuse me everyone, I would like to speak to my husband.”

“Please excuse me,” Rhaegar said, bowing his head politely. They all bowed theirs, except Olenna did so with an eyeroll and smirk. 

Lyanna rolled hers; she would hear from the Queen of Thorns later. Probably a crude remark about needing to take care of Rhaegar’s iron throne or some nonsense. She walked beside him in silence, Oz and Arthur following behind, until they were safe in the quiet confines of Rhaegar’s private study. The moment the door closed, he let out a heavy sigh, dropping his cloak to his feet, immediately lifting his crown off his head. 

“Good gods, this thing grows heavier by the year! I wonder if someone is adding weight to it,” he grumbled. 

She plucked hers off as well, instantly feeling blood return to the pinched areas of her temples. “Aye,” she agreed. She handed him her crown, so he could place them together in their box. She wrinkled her nose, her arms crossing her chest. “Rhae?”

“Hmm?”

“The Kingsguard, who sets their schedules and when they are assigned to one of the family?”

“Gerold of course. He is their Lord Commander.” 

She joined Rhaegar on the balcony, savoring the light breeze coming off the Bay. They should abscond completely for the rest of the day, go to the private beach or perhaps sail to Dragonstone. They could cancel everything, they were the monarchs after all, she thought with wistful longing. She wrapped her arms around his waist, dropping her forehead to between his shoulders, groaning. “Can we stay here please? Tell the Seven Kingdoms to fuck off.”

He rumbled beneath her, chuckling. “Oh love, do you think that would keep them together?”

“The realm is as peaceful and quiet as it has been in decades. I think if we could, now is the time.”

“Hmm, I do agree, but unfortunately, I think some would disagree. Your brother, for instance, making the journey so far south,” Rhaegar said. He made sense, of course, but Lyanna could dream. She really could care less about Ned and his concerns. They were there because Rhaegar would make the official announcement of the betrothal. All the relevant parties were present, there would be a great feast the following week. The wedding of Margaery Tyrell and Robb Stark, an incredible pairing further binding the realms together. 

A heavy arm rested atop her shoulders, drawing her from where she’d been standing behind him to his side. He kissed the top of her head, murmuring Valyrian sweet words. _My poet_ , she sighed, not understanding a thing he said, but her heart knew the real meaning. She almost forgot what had brought them up there to speak, Rhaegar reminding her. She sniffed. “I do not like how Jaime Lannister is behaving around Daenerys. Not since she returned from Essos.”

“Oh? How so?” 

“He is always watching her. They are always together, he seems…” Lyanna thought to how he had been behaving, the way he’d been that had alerted her to some sort of change in the relationship. She frowned. “He is yawning, seems quite tired. They whisper together. It seems…I do not know. I do not trust him.”

Rhaegar waved his hand, letting go of her, returning to the study. “I am sure it is nothing, they were in Essos together, they probably are close, like Arthur and I.”

“Hmm, but you are you and Arthur is Arthur. Daenerys is a beautiful young woman, the most beautiful in the Seven Kingdoms.” She did not know if she would need to spell it out for Rhaegar. He blinked, face impassive, indigo eyes rather clueless. _Ugh, I guess I need to spell it out._ “Rhaegar, she is ten and six years, she is a young woman, she has been to Essos where things are not…” Lyanna wondered how to say it without setting off Rhaegar’s _father_ instinct when it came to Dany. She pursed her lips, mulling the word. “Things are not as…conservative.”

He waved his hand again. “I am sure it is nothing. Ser Jaime is young, he probably prefers protecting Dany than Jon or Egg because those two are almost always in the yard sparring or going into the Wolfswood.”

“I think there is something going on.” 

“I trust if there is, you will discover it my love,” Rhaegar said, coming to kiss her cheek. He smiled. “Daenerys can take care of Ser Jaime. If he does anything untoward, I am sure she will handle it. Now, if you do discover that he is…” he narrowed his eyes, a coldness appearing in them. “Taking advantage of his position, he will be dealt with accordingly.”

Lyanna smirked. “Aye.”

“I love you; I will be back. Oh, if you see our son, tell him that I know he was yawning. Perhaps he should not be up so late shooting arrows into the Bay.” 

She rolled her eyes; telling Jon to stop sparring or shooting arrows was like telling Tywin Lannister to stop being a complete and utter arsehole. “I believe he was with Egg actually.”

“Hmm, I saw him yawning too. I shall speak to him.” 

She waited until Rhaegar had left, making a face at the door. Whatever was going on with Daenerys and Jaime Lannister, Lyanna would find out. She reached to pull at the metal wolf sigil pin on her shoulder, releasing her heavy silver fur cloak, striding to the door connecting to their chambers. 

Just when there seemed to be days where all the _children_ could be left to their own devices, without need for constant surveillance, there were days like today, she groaned, falling backwards onto the bed.

~/~/~/~

Several weeks passed from the day Lyanna first noticed Jaime Lannister’s odd behavior with respect to Dany. As the only girl in a keep full of brothers, Lyanna had become quite adept at keeping her secrets her own, along with developing a heightened sense of observation. Rhaegar occasionally called her _paranoid_ , but Lyanna preferred the term _aware._ She was quite aware that the young lion knight rarely left Daenerys's side, traveled with her to Dragonstone, and appeared to have less sleep than the young princess, who occasionally seemed to nod off in meetings or even at the supper table.

Lyanna thought Rhaegar believed her to be in one of her paranoid states, so she did not confide in him her growing fears that Jaime Lannister was taking advantage of Dany’s good heart—or the body around which that good heart beat. Daenerys was the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, as much as Mace Tyrell tried to put it out there that Margaery happened to have that title.

Jaime had been enamored with Rhaella—Rhaegar said that sometimes he feared Aerys would kill the knight, given the amount of times he had been caught staring at the beautiful queen. Those who knew Rhaella said Daenerys was her spitting image, fine Valyrian features, silver curls, and her eyes an even deeper violet, shining like amethysts. Add in her sweet smile, pink lips pulling wide over even white teeth, and it was no surprise every man who encountered her fell a little bit in love with her. 

“The tour of Essos really did wonders for her,” she said, one evening to Rhaegar, as they both sat at their desks, working on various letters and preparations for the tourney and feast that would occur in a few weeks’ time, to announce and celebrate the impending nuptials of Margaery and Robb at Highgarden.

Rhaegar shrugged, barely lifting his head up. “I suppose. She was always a confident girl.”

“Yes, but her confidence seems to just…shine I suppose.” Dany was always fiery, but now it was like she knew it, knew how to wield it to her advantage. Perhaps it was Viserys and Arianne that helped her see that. She tapped her quill on the roll of parchment before her, musing. “All the men at court cannot stop staring. Ser Jorah Mormont in particular. She’s still a girl.”

“Would you like me to have him removed?” 

“Hmm, soon enough I think.” She lifted the quill to her lips, nibbling the end, pondering. There really was only one way to determine whether Dany was engaging in anything… _intimate._ Not that Lyanna cared about that; at six and ten she was kissing boys and contemplating whether it would be worth it to lose her maidenhead before her marriage to Robert Baratheon. Two years later she would be a mother and marrying a king. It seemed odd to think that Dany was closing in on that age. 

Lyanna just wanted to make sure Daenerys wasn’t going to lose her heart completely; she had already dealt with first heartbreak, losing Jon to Winterfell and then finding that as a boy growing into a man, he had interests elsewhere. Essos had helped their relationship too. Jon hadn’t necessarily _pined_ for Dany, but Lyanna knew that he often spent many nights on the balcony of his room at Dragonstone, staring east towards Essos, as if he could summon a ship with the Targaryen sails back to him. 

Dany’s return had rekindled their close friendship; they would disappear for hours, like they did as children, lying about the godswood with Ghost or on the beach. They would ride in the Kingswood, sail out to Dragonstone and wander the cliffs and caves. She knew Jon was just as intrigued with Dany’s stone dragon eggs, occasionally sitting in the library with her for hours as she tried to find ways to hatch the precious objects she’d discovered from a trader in Vaes Dothrak. 

She got up from her desk, leaving Rhaegar to whatever had him so focused; she suspected he was not in fact reading over the preparations for the journey west to the Reach, but sneaking looks at his new book from Essos, which Viserys had sent over with many other chests that Dany had filled and hadn’t been able to all bring with her. She rolled her eyes at him, smirking. “You are such a strange man,” she murmured, heart swelling.

Lyanna walked quietly down the corridor to Dany’s rooms, turning the corner and coming up short as Jaime Lannister stopped hard, to avoid hitting into her. “Your Grace!” he exclaimed, sweeping to a bow. His green eyes darted towards Dany’s door and then to hers. It was like she could see the wheels in his head. “I did not realize…apologies.”

“No apologies necessary, I snuck out,” she teased. She squinted. _He looks guilty of something…_ “Were you just finishing with your watch?”

“Um…yes, yes I was.”

“I will leave you be then.” Lyanna stepped aside, waiting for Jaime to move. He waited another moment, glanced backwards, and then nodded, hurrying away, white cloak swishing about his feet. She scowled at his retreating back. Her suspicions were all but confirmed. Surely, he was coming from Dany’s room! 

She went immediately to the door, knocking hard, no preamble. A scuffling came from the other side. Lyanna almost pressed her ear up to the solid oak, but the door pulled backwards quickly. Dany stood on the other side, in one of her pretty silk dressing gowns from Essos, her silver curls tumbling loose over her shoulders. “Lyanna!” she exclaimed, violet eyes widening. She glanced over her shoulder, to the four-poster bed, with its rumpled sheets and blankets. “It is quite late, um…is there something I can help you with?”

A sick feeling pulled at her belly. It was as though everything she believed had in fact been truth. _So much for being paranoid Rhaegar!_ Lyanna stepped into the room, scanning quickly. Yes, it certainly appeared as though someone else had been there, and Dany was shifting on her feet, trying to hide any sort of evidence of it. She smiled softly at the girl, hands folding in front of her. “I just thought we haven’t had a conversation in some time, just you and me. I loved our talks. Since we are leaving for Highgarden in a few days and things will be busy, perhaps you might like to have a cup of wine with me?”

“Oh, um, yes of course.” Dany strode around her to the various bottles and decanters on one of her new Essosi chests, engraved with dragons and inset with various gems. “I have a Dornish red that Ariane just sent.”

“Sounds lovely.” Although she would love a Northern ale about then.

They each took a goblet, settling on one of the plush couches in front of Dany’s hearth. Owing to the heat of late, it had no fire going. Lyanna was grateful; sometimes Rhaegar’s desire for heat even in the most sweltering of days could make her want to return to Winterfell. 

Dany sipped her wine, swallowing hard. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “So, um, how…how have you been?”

“Wonderful, but let’s talk about you.” Lyanna patted her hand, lightly squeezing her wrist, comforting. She did not want this to feel like an interrogation. She placed a soft smile on her face, corners of her eyes crinkling up. “Is there anything you want to share with me, perhaps…a boy you might fancy? I remember at six and ten I was quite interested in the opposite sex. Dreaming of running off with the blacksmith’s son.” _Or the Crown Prince._

The young girl shook her head, a bit too quick. She sipped her wine, cup resting on her knee after she lowered it. “No,” she said, a little smirk tugging the corner of her lip up. “I…I have been busy with studying. Missandei has been teaching me Ghiscari, it is a fascinating language. Rhaenys also sent me some books she obtained in Assh’ai, she thinks they may help me with my dragon eggs. They’re in some language none of us know, so I’ve been trying to figure it out.”

 _Languages, dragon eggs…_ Lyanna forced another smile. “You know you never told me of anyone else you may have met in Essos…Viserys said that there were plenty of suitors.”

Dany laughed, a musical tinkle, akin to a harp chord. “Oh yes, there were plenty of those. Old fat magisters, sellswords, and even a Dothraki khal! But no, I was in Essos to learn, to explore.” She chuckled again. “Viserys was also pretty terrifying to anyone who dared approach his little sister.”

“Well that’s something.” 

“Aye.” 

Lyanna’s eyebrows rose up at the use of the Northern word. It seemed maybe she was rubbing off on Dany. The notion made her shift a bit, smile. “Well, is there anyone in the Keep who has your fancy? I only ask because well, Rhaenys is with Edric now and Viserys and Arianne…we will be going to announce a berothal, I’m just curious who might have Princess Daenerys’s heart.” She grinned, teasing a little. She winked. “Just between us of course.”

Dany’s already flushed cheeks darkened, almost bright red, like round apples. “Oh no, no one.” 

It was like pure confirmation, an explosion of wildfire around the young girl. There was someone. She wouldn’t meet her eyes, kept looking at her fingers, which were white around the stem of the goblet, clutching tight. Lyanna tipped her goblet back, draining the rest of the wine, which did nothing to help her already sour stomach. She got to her feet, setting the goblet on the table beside her. “Well, I should return to Rhaegar. I hope we can speak more and remember…” She furrowed her brow, reaching to touch Dany’s hand once more. Her voice dropped, whispering. “If there is anything, anything at all you wish to speak to me about…I swear to you, it will remain between us and I am always, always here for you.” She leaned down, kissing the small girl’s forehead, murmuring. “I view you like my daughter, Daenerys. I love you, you know that, right?”

The barest flicker of understanding passed over the girl’s face. She masked it quickly, nodding, and smiling. It was forced, tight in the corners of her eyes. “I do Lyanna. Thank you.”

“Good night love.”

“Good night.”

Lyanna left her, closing the door behind her. She exhaled hard, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. She didn’t know why she was crying. Maybe because if it was true, Daenerys was not a girl any longer. It was one thing to come to her upset about Jon being a _stupid_ young boy kissing others. It was another to hide a relationship, perhaps even hide something as monumental as losing her maidenhead, if that was in fact what had happened. She wished she could know though, to fully confirm her thoughts. 

She snarled, protective she-wolf emerging, her hackles rising on the back of her neck. Daenerys was her daughter, if not by blood then my name. She was her cub, just like Jon. 

And Jaime Lannister would die with her jaws around his neck if he hurt her.

~/~/~/~

Lyanna sneezed _again_.

She hadn’t stopped since they got to Highgarden. Roses and flowers _everywhere._ It was a nightmare. She loved blue winter roses, but maybe because they grew in the cold North and not the muggy heat of the Reach, she did not sneeze the way she had been since arriving at the Tyrell’s castle. She wiped at her eyes, which watered, going into the adjacent changing area of her room to fetch a new set of linens to hide in her pockets for each sneeze.

Lady Olenna had been cackling with her the entire day, making fun of her obvious irritation at the gardens. “Or maybe it is my son’s presence, he is quite a nuisance,” she complained. She clearly loved her grandchildren more than her own child, which Lyanna thought amusing.

The chest with some of her things had been moved, to her annoyance. She sighed, rummaging about, pausing when she heard the door opening and some giggling girls enter the room. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see through the crack in the open door, the gaggle of maids holding fresh linens for the bed. They were all young, probably each one five and ten at most. “Did you see the Prince training in the yard with Loras and Garlan? So handsome!”

“Which one?” another laughed.

“Oh I do love the Crown Prince, his skin is so beautiful and soft looking! I think the Winter Prince is a bit too I don’t know…hard looking.”

“That’s what makes him so beautiful!”

They sighed, going back and forth over who was more attractive, Egg or Jon, each one of the five girls having a different opinion as they cleaned up the room and changed out linens. “It is quite a shame,” the eldest said, holding the old linens to her chest, sighing hard. “That the Winter Prince has taken a lover.”

Lyanna had to shove her hands into her mouth to keep from crying out in surprise, alerting the girls to her appearance. She pressed to the back of the door, listening intently, mind racing. _Jon had a lover!? Who!?_

“How do you know that?” one challenged.

“I changed out his linens, he clearly had someone there with him last night! Also, Myriah said that just last night she was going down to the stables to meet with the tanner’s boy—you know she fancies him—when she swears she saw him coming from the gardens lacing up his breeches! There were Kingsguard there too—the old one and the young one.”

“They’re all old and young.”

“Well I don’t know their names! The handsome blond one, I believe Ser Jaime, the Lannister!”

A squeak escaped her before she could stop it. _Jaime!_

The girls all froze, looking around nervously. “What was that?” one whispered.

“I don’t know, but we should go, we have been here too long. The Queen might return. She terrifies me!” They giggled, rushing out through one of the hidden servant entrances to the room, which Lyanna had already identified in the first five minutes of being in the chambers. She always tried to find them; Rhaegar again calling her _paranoid_ , but again, she was just _aware._

She could not move, plastered against the back of the door, her eyes still watering and nose dripping. She sneezed, groaning at how miserable she felt. It could be because of the flowers, or perhaps the news the girls had just imparted to the Queen without even knowing. 

_Jon had a lover!_

_Jaime Lannister spotted with him!_

She covered her mouth with her hands, eyes wide in realization. She squeaked again. “Dany!”

~/~/~/~

“Our son has a lover.”

Lyanna could not wait any longer. Nor could she wrap the words in something to soften the blow to her husband’s ears. She had to tell him about Jon, the news had been eating at her the entire day. All through the insipid tourney, the backhanded compliments and not-so-subtle jabs from the highborn ladies as they tried to make nice with Olenna. She hadn’t even been able to enjoy the sparring match between Olenna and Cersei Lannister, which ordinarily would have filled her with delight. 

Even when Rhaegar suggested she put on armor and hop on a horse to battle with a lance, Lyanna hardly smiled or felt anything. The news she’d heard about Jon, the gossip and the way she replayed everything in her mind, over and over again, it was killing her to tell him. It all suddenly made sense. 

Jaime Lannister had nothing to do with Daenerys. He was _protecting_ her. All those times she thought he was sneaking from her rooms or they were running off together. She replayed it back in her head, now seeing that in every one of those moments, Jon was making an excuse to go somewhere. Jon was yawning the same way as Dany. They were never seen alone after Jaime and Dany went together. He was aware of their relationship, no doubt was hiding it from everyone, including the Kingsguard. 

After the feast that evening, when she could not wait any longer, she had returned with Rhaegar to their chambers, and told him. 

Although, Lyanna probably should not have said it while he was taking a sip of wine, because he sputtered it out, spraying Arbor Gold all over the floor, coughing and choking. She waited for him to right himself, wiping at his mouth and blinking tears from his eyes. She scowled. “You knew, didn’t you?”

He coughed some more, his pale face bright red, matching the color of his silk tunic. He nodded and then shook his head. “I…I guessed…” he coughed, covering his mouth with his hand. He patted his chest, groaning. “Gods Lyanna! Could have waited to tell me you know! Prepare me for that!”

“No.” She glared at him, tugging at her ties and stays, trying to get off the silly Southern garment. She hated their fashions, preferring her simple dresses and riding leathers. “How do you know?”

“How do _you_ know?” he retorted.

“I overheard some stupid maids talking about it. Now answer me!”

He groaned again, falling backwards onto the bed and reaching to tug off his boots. “He was in the library, hunting around for books. Arthur thought it was a bit odd and looked, saw which ones he was looking at, and asked him. They ah…chatted about some things. Arthur thought it best to tell me. He doesn’t know who the lover is.” His indigo eyes narrowed, focusing on her. “But I take it you do?”

“Hmm, I think I do.”

“And?”

It seemed Rhaegar had not put the pieces together. He had told her that Jon feared fathering a bastard, he would never go beyond kissing with a girl, but for whatever reason now, he seemed to be willing to risk it. “Must be someone incredibly important to Jon to want to risk his greatest fear,” she murmured, approaching Rhaegar slowly, her dress half undone. She turned, pulling her hair over her shoulder and showing him her back, so he could help with the ties. She drawled her words, brow arching. “Someone he loves desperately.”

“Hmm, I imagine so.”

“You know what I said, don’t you, about Jaime Lannister and Daenerys?”

“I told you I think that is nothing, they’re just close.”

She groaned. “Rhaegar you are so oblivious!”

“About what?” Now he was frustrated, voice sharp. “About my family? I cannot possibly follow with every single thing that those children are doing, I try to keep my eye on Egg because he is the Crown Prince, but I’m trying to rule the Seven Kingdoms and make everyone bloody happy Lyanna! Jaime is a trusted member of the Kingsguard and Daenerys can handle herself and…” 

She turned slowly, smiling at him. He scowled, looking rather like Jon in that moment. She tweaked his nose. “You are cute when you get angry with me.”

He kissed her finger, which dropped to his lips. “Well that is good news.” Once more, he narrowed his eyes, clearly annoyed. “So? Who is Jon’s lover then?”

It was almost teasing, taunting her. He thought it was _funny._ Probably thought _good for Jon_ and all that, but now it was Lyanna’s turn to upend the table on Rhaegar. She smirked. “I think it is Daenerys,” she announced.

One could hear a pin drop in the room, the silence they plunged straight into after her admission. Rhaegar had a strange twisted smile on his lips, his eyes shifting from teasing to rather maniacal. “Daenerys?” he croaked.

“Hmm, I do not think Jaime Lannister is taking advantage of her. I think he is protecting her.” She mused. “Probably covering up them sneaking around at night or during the daytime. I wonder what Ser Barristan has been doing when Jon runs off. I doubt he knows, but Jaime is young, he probably understands them a bit more…” she trailed off, pursing her lips. 

On the bed Rhaegar remained silent. He was fisting the covers in his hands, on either side of his thighs. He suddenly lurched up to his feet, almost knocking her sideways. “I will kill him!”

“Kill who?”

“My son!”

 _Oh for the love of gods!_ Lyanna dove for him, snagging him around the waist and dragging him to the bed. He was strong, but she was stronger when he got like this, all bent out of shape and rather red-sighted, his dragon temper flooding his senses and dulling them somewhat. “No you will not! You get back here!” They wrestled about on the bed for a moment, until she had him pinned, her knees on either side of his hips and his arms bent over his head, her fingers locking around his wrists like a vice. He huffed beneath her, still struggling, but Lyanna was a champion rider; she had him locked down tight like he was one of her horses. “You stop that!”

“Stop what? Our son taking advantage of my baby sister!?”

“No! Our son finally doing the right bloody thing and clearly in love with the woman who has been his other half since the moment they were both born,” she said, changing the narrative up a bit. She arched her brows, smirking. “They are betrothed, Rhaegar. Whether they know it or not, you said so yourself, you want them together.”

He shifted a bit under her, mulling her words. He wrinkled his nose, still mulish. “She is six and ten!”

“And he is seven and ten.”

“They are children!”

“Rhaegar, I was sixteen when I first met you, eighteen when I was married and with child.” She shook her head, amused. “Viserys and Arianne were married, Rhaenys was already betrothed, as were you and Elia! Besides, are we not here at Highgarden to announce the nuptials of Robb and Margaery? I believe they are seven and ten and six and ten, correct?”

He scowled, still annoyed. Except it was Rhaegar, the fastest way to his heart was to use logic. He huffed again, his chest falling with the hard exhale. He closed his eyes, licking his lips. “Fine, but…gods honestly. Jon and Dany?” He frowned. “I still do not know what to make of that.”

She slipped off of him, falling to his side, rather amused by it herself. She propped her head on her hand, tapping her fingers along the horrible scar on his chest that peeked from the open neck of his tunic. She dragged her fingertip along the curve from Robert’s hammer. “Well Jon did say he would never father a bastard…I suppose he thinks if he does with Dany, they will marry anyway.”

“Gods I do not want them having children just yet. I do not think I am ready.”

She did not feel it wise to remind him that Rhaenys was to be married soon, she would likely have children not long after. There was also the matter of Egg needing to marry to produce an heir. She rested her head beside him, chuckling. “I mean, it isn’t proven…just a theory.”

_I could prove it though._

She still did not trust Jaime Lannister. A tiny voice in the back of her head told her it could be one of two things. Dany and Jon or Dany and the Kingslayer. She patted Rhaegar’s chest, getting to her feet. She left him to mull over things; it took him time to process. Once out of her silly frilly Southern gown, she changed into her riding leathers and a long simple tunic dress, boots shoved onto her feet. 

“Where are you going?” he called.

“A walk.” _There was a simple way to prove my theory._ Lyanna left the chambers, bringing Ser Gerold with her, saying nothing to him as she left the Keep, meandering through Highgarden’s mazes. She wrapped her arms around herself, noting that Ser Gerold remained quiet, even if she did hear the slight hitch in his breathing as they neared a secluded area of the gardens. She smiled to herself, keeping her back to him. “Ser Gerold?”

“Yes Your Grace?”

“Is Ser Jaime resting this evening or is he on watch?”

“He is resting this evening Your Grace. I have Ser Barristan on Princess Daenerys’s watch this evening.”

“Hmm. And Prince Jon?”

“The direwolf, Your Grace.”

Yes, in lieu of a knight to watch Jon in the evening, Ghost was his protection. They all knew that Ghost would die for his beloved Jon—and Jon for him. The direwolf now was the size of a horse, too big for a bed and often left to the outdoors when they were on tours like these; the Tyrells were a bit too terrified of the great wolf to allow him to roam freely through the castle’s corridors. 

She moved through the gardens, until she came upon the one she’d been searching for. Listening to Olenna after being a bit too deep into her cups, speaking of where she used to meet her lovers as a girl when she lived at Highgarden. She spotted the flash of white, smirking. “Hello Ghost,” she murmured. She glanced at Gerold, pointing. “Stay here.”

He nodded, even if he was likely uncomfortable with letting her out of his sight. She moved through the hedge, pausing at the wolf blocking entrance to the garden. The feast back in the main keep was still going on, the vast majority of those remaining all members of the households gathered, the highborn having retired to bed long ago. She was grateful for the sound, for it muffled any conversations ongoing in the gardens, probably why the young lovers had escaped there. 

She edged by Ghost, who looked up at her pained, clearly upset that he was failing in his protection duties but knowing that she was not a threat. “It’s alright,” she murmured to him, patting and scratching his ears reassuringly. “I just want to see…”

Lyanna curved easily through the hedges, slight and nimble. She had done things similar to this her entire life, scaling walls at Winterfell, running along the secret passageways of the Keep, and climbing the tallest trees in the realm to see what she might have been missing. She moved along a stone wall, pausing at the edge, looking straight into the garden. 

The lovers had spread out a few blankets, tangled up in them. Dany’s dress was tossed over a bench and Jon’s clothing was scattered near them. The moon was round and full in the sky, casting a bright glow over them. Dany was stretched over Jon’s chest, her silver hair unbound, cascading over her shoulders and she traced patterns over Jon’s bare skin, gazing lovingly down at him. “What if someone finds us?” she teased, not at all worried.

“Let them,” Jon murmured up at her, a wide smile on his face. It was rather dopey, lovesick. He wrapped the ends of Dany’s hair around his hand, pushing it over her shoulder, his fingers dragging down the bumps of her spine, up and down lazily. “I missed you, all those nights on the road…”

“They were horrible without you, but Jaime didn’t want to risk it.” She frowned. “Lyanna is wary…I think she suspects.”

“Let them suspect.”

“Perhaps we should say something.”

“No,” Jon said, shaking his head. He sighed. “I don’t want to share you just yet. I want this for us.”

She grinned; it was her turn to look rather dopey. “I still cannot believe sometimes it is real. You and I, like this now…I thought for sure you were done with me…I was silly Daenerys, chasing after you and Egg.”

“I was a fool.” 

“Aye, you were.”

“Aye,” Jon mocked, laughing. She laughed too, leaning to kiss him. They kissed for a moment, rather hungrily, both of them snaking around each other, before he broke away first, holding her tight to him, one hand in the small of her back and the other cupping her head. He frowned. “You are the love of my life…I just needed a kick in the arse, I suspect.”

“Many kicks in the arse.”

“Aye, many.” He traced his finger down her nose; it was a move that Lyanna did many times with Rhaegar, something she wondered if he had seen and had adopted, or perhaps if it was just in his blood. “I missed you so much when you were in Essos. I guess I needed reminding.”

“You did.”

“You got your way.”

She giggled. “I did make you work for it.”

He flushed. “I am not a bloody poet. I’m not my father.”

“Hmm, you are a poet to me Jon Snow.”

“Only you can use that name, you know.”

“That’s why I do.” She kissed him again, only this time it was clear that any conversation was over, the two of them moaning softly, hands and arms tangling together, as she fell to the side, Jon moving over her. A slim leg fell out from the blankets, lifting up around his hip. 

_Well I have seen quite enough._

Lyanna moved to slip back, but a flower brushed right under her nose, tickling. _Oh bloody seven hells!_ She could not stifle it, it happened so fast, all she managed to do was pinch her nose shut, with a quiet squeaky “Ah-choo!”

The young lovers pulled apart instantly, grabbing the blankets around them, frantic and whipping about. “What was that?” Dany gasped.

“Someone is nearby,” Jon said, grabbing for his trousers. “Quick, we should get back.”

They jumped up, Ghost appearing in the small alcove, pacing back and forth. Lyanna winced, guilty that she had brought about an end to their time together. She left as fast as she came, not wanting them to find her, and grabbed hold of Gerold. “Hurry!” 

As the good Kingsguard he was, Lord Commander even, Gerold said nothing, following after her. He kept their secrets, although she was sure he was as confused as ever, her midnight walk ending abruptly. 

Back in her chambers with Rhaegar, Lyanna pounced on him, waking him unceremoniously from sleep. She planted a hard, swift kiss on his lips, laughing. “Do it after you announce Margaery and Robb,” she said, breathless. Her mind was made up. It had to happen soon. 

Rhaegar blinked rapidly. “Huh?”

“Jon and Daenerys. Their engagement. Announce it to the realm.”

“Wuh?”

“They’re in love, it is time. Believe me, it’s time.” She laughed, falling back against him, as lovesick as the two fools out in the garden were.

~/~/~/~

The announcement of Lady Margaery and Lord Robb was met with fanfare, excitement, and as the worst kept secret in the Seven Kingdoms, a collective chuckle of understanding and gratefulness that at least it was out there. They would marry soon, likely at Highgarden, followed by an Old Gods ceremony in the North, where Margarey would relocate, to being learning her role as the future Lady of Winterfell.

Lyanna sipped her wine, watching Catelyn Stark, who as pleased as she was that her eldest son—and by all accounts her favorite child—was marrying into such a prestigious family, with the blessing of the King even, still seemed to appear like she swallowed a lemon. Lyanna guessed it was because Catelyn was very focused on the Tully way of things—Honor, Duty, Family and all that. Margaery was a beautiful, vivacious young woman, and she was also well versed in the ways of court. 

If anything, Lyanna suspected Margaery might find life in Winterfell rather boring. There were only so many ladies there you could try to pit against each other for entertainment. Sansa Stark, on the other hand, appeared to be drunk with love that her future goodsister was Margaery, and had even mentioned a few times to Ned about perhaps she could marry a Tyrell too. “Like Loras!” she had swooned.

Loras probably would not be interested, Lyanna deduced, given that he had spent every single evening mooning after Egg, who seemed just as interested. “That’s a new development,” she murmured, watching the two young men. She had heard the rumors about Egg, following after his Uncle Oberyn, flitting between enjoying the company of men and women equally. 

“What is, my love?” Rhaegar asked.

“Ah, nothing.”

“Egg seems to have developed quite the friendship with Loras. Perhaps I should invite Loras to the Keep, he is quite a jouster.”

“Hmm, quite.” _My gods Rhaegar, you know nothing._ She finished her wine, patting his thigh, nodding towards Ser Jaime, who was keeping close watch on Dany, as she danced with Jon, the both f them laughing with each other, like they were the only ones in the entire hall. “Be right back.”

“You owe me a dance!”

She made a face; she only danced with him and only after she had several glasses of wine. “And you owe me a song,” she fired back, which had him grinning and getting to his feet, to go over to the musicians. She made her way from the high table down towards where Jaime was standing, tapping him on the shoulder. “Ser Jaime.”

“Your Grace.”

After a moment, she rose on her toes, waiting for a particularly loud song to begin playing, in case anyone was near to hear them. She whispered into his ear. “I know what you are doing.”

Jaime kept his face impassive. “Your Grace?” he wondered. “I do not know what you speak about.”

“Hmm, you are covering for them.” He remained silent, not moving a muscle. He did not even blink in acknowledgment. The Kingsguard kept the royal family secrets; Jaime was just doing his job. She grinned. “You are a good guard you know. I am glad you care for Daenerys the way you do.” 

He continued to do nothing, except she saw the barest hint of a smile, his green eyes almost twinkling. He kept staring ahead. “Your Grace, I am simply doing my job to protect the Princess.”

“She does look remarkably like her mother, yes? So I have been told, having never met Queen Rhaella.” It was a terrible shame that she had died as young as she did, without ever having been able to raise her daughter. Lyanna hoped that in whatever afterlife she may be living, Rhaella was grateful her daughter had grown into the beautiful kind young woman she had. 

He barely nodded, before catching himself, swallowing hard. “I believe so, Your Grace.”

Lyanna darted her gaze towards one of the higher tables, seeing Cersei Lannister watching them, almost seething. She knew the rumors that followed the lion twins around. It gave her perverse pleasure to see that Cersei was jealous of her being so close to Jaime. She patted Jaime’s golden armor. “Continue your watch Ser Jaime, I will not keep you or ah…get in your way.” She winked, hoping he understood what she meant. 

Lyanna returned to her chair, Rhaegar coming over to take her hand. She kissed his cheek, a hand going to his chest, over the embroidered three-headed dragon over his heart. “I think we should make the announcement,” she said, arching a brow. 

He glanced down at her, surprised. “Now?”

“Hmm.”

Rhaegar cleared his throat, nodding. He went over to the center of the table, still standing, and picked up his goblet, the music fading as all turned to the King, who was almost always the center of attention. He began to speak, claiming he had an announcement to make, one that he hoped would not detract from the happy news that had befallen Highgarden with the engagement of Margaery, but one that should fill the realm with joy, for the future was bright for the dragons too. 

Lyanna kept her gaze on her son and on Daenerys, as they both appeared nervous. She remembered their little faces, always turned towards each other in sleep, or how they would stick out their tongues and be disgusted over the future of marrying each other. That was of course, _after_ they had pretended to be Jaehaerys and Alysanne. She picked up her goblet, lifting it up, beaming and laughing as loud as everyone when Rhaegar announced the future marriage of his son, the Prince Jon and his sister, the Princess Daenerys of House Targaryen. 

Everyone was as shocked as she expected them to be, but none more so than the young couple, whose mouths dropped open and who could not contain their excitement, arms flinging around each other and forgetting for a moment they were a prince and princess, and were instead, just a young couple in love.

Lyanna remembered those days. She gazed up at her love, taking his hand and squeezing tight, beaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At Winterfell, Jon and Dany marry under the Old Gods; Egg tells Rhaegar who he wants to marry, to Rhaegar's absolute surprise.


	7. true love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany get married; Rhaegar gets a bit weepy.

“I see where our son gets it then.”

 _Hmm?_ Rhaegar glanced up at the soft words from the entry of the vast chambers, finding they echoed in the rather sparsely furnished stone rooms. He always marveled at how economical Winterfell happened to be. If the room was large, there were little items within it. If it was small, it was packed and rather cozy. He preferred those chambers, probably because they were quite warm and no matter the season, his dragon blood did nothing for him in the North.

It happened to be winter, of course, or at least approaching winter. The snows were heavy, muting the daily sounds of the keep. He watched his wife make her way towards him, her heavy gray skirts whispering along the cold floor. The fur cloak she wore was the same gray as her eyes, lined with fur and embroidered along the neck with a snarling white wolf, the deference to her married House a silver embroidered burst of flame curling around the neck, two pins holding the cloak to her shoulder—one wolf and one dragon.

It was a gorgeous gown, fit for a queen, made for her by her niece Sansa, who was quite talented with a needle and thread. There were even patterns on the bottom that resembled weirwood leaves. Her crown nestled in her curls, silver and sapphire, more like iron. It suited her, his iron princess, cool as snow and yet her heart burning hot like the fires within the keep.

He reached his hand for her, drawing her closer to him. It had been a busy morning, he was simply taking the time to think about things. “Our son gets what from me?” he asked, teasing. He knew of course.

“The brooding.”

 _Ah, yes, Jon and his penchant for staring into the fires or scowling at the sky._ Even as a little boy, small and aloof, he seemed burdened by his thoughts. He chuckled. “Perhaps he does, I have never known you to ah, what did you call it? _Brood_ , my love.”

She settled on his knees, crossing her legs. Her skirt revealed that even on the day of her son’s wedding, she would never give up her riding leathers, the gray leather tucked into her calf-high boots. Her pale, cool hand cupped his chin, turning him to gaze at her, gray eyes twinkling. “I love you Rhaegar, but there is no reason to brood.” She looped her arm around his neck, peering out the window he’d been looking through, out at the yard, and farther still to the godswood. “You are thinking of Jon and Dany.”

“How are they?”

“Well I have just come from seeing our son. He is beside himself.”

“Oh?”

“Hmm, he is brooding. He seems permanently stuck at the window. Robb has attempted several times to ply him with ale, but even that has not pulled him from his thoughts.” Lyanna sighed, rather dramatic, tapping her fingertip against his nose. “I think he tries to be strong, but he is nervous. It is his wedding day after all. To the love of his life. His Dany.”

 _My Dany._ “He is not regretting anything?” It was not a serious thought, but he still worried nevertheless. It was quite an event, something he had had to work on longer than he thought he should. Jon was the second son, he was marrying for love and not politics, and it should have gone without saying that the realm should not have batted an eye at a Targareyn marrying a Targaryen. It wasn’t the Crown Prince marrying into the family, as was usual in the bloodline.

Viserys and Rhaenys’s weddings were held in the Sept of Baelor, grand affairs with tourneys and feasts for days. Even they still did not seem to be as stressful as this particular wedding. Perhaps it was because instead of the Sept of Baelor, they were marrying in the godswood at Winterfell, beneath the massive hearttree, and the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms would be presiding over the ceremony, as the highest-ranking Stark in the castle.

There would be no tourneys and only one feast that evening. No bedding, just like the other weddings. Viserys had been livid at the idea of someone pawing at Arianne—who also threatened to cut the hands off any man that dared touch her. Rhaenys had only twisted her daggers around in her fingers while at the head of her wedding table, silently threatening anyone who dared approach her. Ned Dayne was like Arthur, very calm and quiet, but beneath the surface beat the heart of a fiery Dornishman. He would not take well to anyone trying to remove his wife’s clothes, even if it was tradition.

Rhaegar was a little curious to see what would happen if any of the Northmen tried it with his little sister and his son. The question would be, would the dragon burn them alive first or would the wolf rip out their throat? He chuckled; the image rather amusing. “I think they waited enough time,” he said, before Lyanna could answer. Jon would not have second thoughts. He was likely just being, well, _Jon_ about it all.

Dany could handle him. Probably already had, as sneaky as those two were. They had waited five years before marrying, choosing that time to return to Essos, to explore and set up a network that if Rhaegar was not mistaken, might soon become their kingdom. Daenerys was a conqueror; her blood was that of Aegon’s. Jon had the First Men, explorers in their own right. Jon went above the Wall, with his beloved Free Folk, and Dany headed as close to Old Valyria as she could. They always came back together, when they were not with each other.

He hoped they would not leave for too long next time; he missed them, running about the keep. Finding them under his desk playing or jumping up onto his bed to wake him. He felt his eyes grow hot, tears threatening to fall. “Oh Rhaegar,” Lyanna sighed, her forehead dropping to his. She chuckled, whispering against his cheek. “They will be fine. They’re all grown up now. Gods, we already had a child. We had been through a _war_ by their age.”

“I know,” he sniffed. He felt foolish. Bloody King of the Seven Kingdoms crying over his son and baby sister. He took a deep breath, releasing it in a shaky rattle from his lungs. “I just…I remember when they needed us. When Jon would come into my study at night. Dany too. They would sleep on my chest and then they would fall asleep in front of the fire.”

“Hmm, they would share the same cot. They had those ratty little furs.”

He laughed, wondering where those furs had gotten. Probably tossed out at some point. “Dany would go to Viserys first, he never understood why.”

“She loved you both. She _loves_ you both. That has not changed.”

“I suppose we started them young,” he thought out loud, remembering how they would cry when they weren’t together. Jon trailing after Dany, doing whatever it was she did. Their games of Alysanne and Jaehaerys. He shrugged. “Perhaps they were always meant to be together.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, Rhaenys and Egg were always together as small children. They can hardly stand each other.”

He snorted. “They fight like cats and dogs.” Rhaenys had never put up with Egg for too long, constantly annoyed by her little brother’s presence. Egg had Jon, in a way, but Egg had always been removed, his role as Crown Prince unfortunately aging him considerably. He groaned, thinking of his son. “Egg still has not wed. The most political marriage of them all.”

“He’s heartbroken.”

“I could kill Loras Tyrell.” That Knight of the Flowers had shown up at the Keep, to become a member of the Kingsguard, and while Rhaegar had frowned upon the relationship at first—not because Egg was interested in men, but because he did not trust that Loras’s intentions were all that pure. He did not agree to his membership in the Kingsguard until his suspicions were either confirmed or proven false. Sure enough, Renly Baratheon appeared at court and Egg was left wondering what had happened, as Loras went off to Storm’s End.

Egg had been rather mature about the whole thing, but Rhaegar suspected if given the chance, he would try to knock Loras off his horse and beat him into the ground at the next tourney. Rhaegar looked forward to it; he might try to do so himself. “I think he is interested in someone else,” Lyanna said, twirling a lock of hair around her finger, watching it spiral out and then spring back. He frowned, glancing up. She smirked. “Oh yes, Egg seems to be sending many ravens. He appears…happy.”

“I thought that was just because Jon was leaving the Keep.”

“Oh he will miss Jon. They pretend to hate each other, but they really don’t.”

The things he still was discovering about his children. He closed his eyes, leaning back in the chair, his arm tightening around his wife’s waist, and for a brief moment, he felt like he was back at the very beginning. He was holding a tiny bundle in his arms, his tears still sticking to his face after learning of his beloved mother’s death, his little brother clutching to his arm while he cradled his baby sister.

 _”You will come live with me now, I promise you will have a home, I will take care of you. Take care of you both.”_ The moment he set Daenerys in the cradle; he heard a cry from the other side of the nursery. It was Jon, flailing in his crib, red-faced, sobbing, and behaving in a manner he never did. Sometimes they feared he might be mute, as little sound he made. Lyanna had suggested they place him with Daenerys, to comfort each other.

And so it began, he supposed.

He patted her knee, squeezing it lightly. “Where is Jon now?”

“He is in Ned’s solar. I left him there to keep brooding, but I took away the ale Egg and Robb brought to him.” She rolled her eyes. “I fear Viserys may have also attempted to put some Shade of the Evening in it too.”

He sighed, now it was his turn to roll his eyes. The wedding would be interesting enough without his younger brother trying to make things even _more_ interesting. “I wonder if Arianne put him up to it.”

“She was dealing with Laena, the poor child cannot handle the cold, I think she might be turning blue.” Lyanna snorted. “All you southerners.”

The fact that his brother was a father somewhat terrified Rhaegar, but thus far Viserys seemed to be doing alright. He did not let anyone see that he actually did love his daughter, who was the spitting image of Arianne, save her lilac eyes. He lightly nudged her off of him, coming to his feet. “I will go speak to him, come and get him when it is time.”

Lyanna peered out the window, the sun almost completely over the horizon. “Not long now.”

“Is there a reason why you wait for nightfall to perform the rites?”

They walked out of his chambers, down the hall towards the solar. “Because the Old Gods can see us,” she said, matter of fact, without any further elaboration. Rhaegar made a note to research it a bit more when they got back. He was remiss in his studies of the Old Gods of the Forest, despite the fact his wife and son followed them. She kept walking, to a room at the end of the hall, he believed Dany was there.

He went into the solar, finding his son with his head between his knees, dressed in fine black leather, his sword on the table, shining bright. “Jon?” he wondered, closing the door behind him. “Are you alright son?”

Jon whipped his head up, his dark curls flying away from his face. “Fine,” he said, a rather odd high-pitched squeak instead of his raspy Northern burr. “Uh, fine Father. Thank you.”

“Your mother said you were brooding.”

“No more than usual,” he said, scowling. “She says that like it is a bad thing.”

“She complains to me about it too,” he agreed. He watched his son for a moment, Jon coming up to his feet, going to fuss with his cloak, a fine black garment with gray ruff and embroidered with dragons and wolves. He fumbled with it, hands shaking. Rhaegar chuckled, walking over and offered his hand. “May I?”

Jon thrust the garment to him, not looking him in the eye as Rhaegar separated the thick cowl from the cloak itself. He had quite a lot of experience in dressing the Northern garment, since Lyanna preferred to wear them instead of the simpler cloaks of the south. He thread the braces together, the black leather stamped with a wolf on one and a dragon on the other. He smiled to himself, snaking the straps around Jon’s arms and chest, latching them. “I presume your cousin is responsible for this embroidery?”

“Hmm, she’s pretty good with it.”

“I understand she will be married to Harold Hardyng, of the Vale.”

Jon nodded, his face paler than normal beneath his dark beard, his gray eyes not focusing. Rhaegar continued, speaking softly while he adjusted the thick gray cowl around Jon’s neck and shoulders, making sure it was not lopsided. “You know son, I know a thing or two about marriage. Having done it twice.” He paused, his brow wrinkling, and heart aching for the loss of Elia. His throat went dry. “I cannot say it is easy…raising children, being the King, and well, keeping your mother happy.” He thought that might crack a smile from Jon, but all it did was make him paler. _Seven hells I am not doing this well at all._ He took a deep breath, surging ahead, unsure what to say, but supposing it would come to him.

Rhaegar was the _bloody poet_ after all. Lyanna told him so, demanding he write songs for her. He hoped at least his son would listen to his words. “I remember when you were small, you and Daenerys running into my study in the evening, keeping each other company…having bad dreams and needing each other. You helping her with her dragon dreams.” He met Jon’s eyes again; this time he had his son’s attention. He felt his heart thud heavy in his ribcage. “There is something bigger than just attraction between you both. I know what they say. Dragon’s blood, Targaryens needing Targaryens…it might be that, but there is more. You both are the other side of a coin, Jon. So long as that love is there, you will be happy. Your mother and I fight, we disagree, and sometimes it is difficult, but we get through it. Because at the end of the day we love each other.” He patted his chest, the cloak now affixed properly, hanging regally from Jon’s shoulders, dusting the ground. He grinned. “And I know you love Daenerys. Daenerys loves you. She has since she was a little girl telling anyone in the Keep she was going to marry you.”

Jon’s cheeks tinged pink, head ducking. His smile curved up slightly. “I remember. She asked me to marry her…I said yes. I knew there was no other answer.”

“How old was she?” Rhaegar laughed.

“I believe we were six and seven.”

“Sounds about right.”

He fiddled with his gloves, sliding his fingers in and out of the leather, twisting at them. “Father I…I just want her to be happy.” He was so earnest, eyes wide. “That is all I ever wanted for her. To be happy.”

Rhaegar dropped his hands to his son’s shoulders, leaning down so their faces were almost nose-to-nose. “If there is one thing, I am absolutely certain of in all the worlds Jon, is that Daenerys will only be happy in her life if you are there to share it with her.”

The sound of the fire crackling became the only thing he could hear, as quiet as they both got, the entire room suddenly muted, dark now with the passing of the sun over the horizon. It was nightfall. The ceremony would begin soon. Rhaegar patted his son’s shoulders once more, letting his hands fall to his sides. He moved to the table, lifting up Longclaw and handed it to Jon, watching as his son—no longer a boy, gods he was no longer a boy at all—strapped it easily around his hips, tugging the strap through the loops and cinching it tight.

He picked up the leather cord left behind, moving behind Jon and tugged back his hair. “Your mother will not be able to properly say the words if you get up there with your hair a mess,” he explained, at Jon’s annoyed face. “And I don’t think we need her to pause the ceremony to start brushing your hair.”

“Gods no.”

The door pushed open, Lyanna stepping into the room. She seemed almost misty-eyed; her voice thick. “It is time. Rhae, Daenerys is waiting. Jon, come on. Your uncle and I will walk you down. Everyone is in the godswood now.”

Rhae waited, watching his son leave with his mother, the two of them practically identical. He paused, smiling to himself. _Jon is all grown up._ It seemed so difficult to fathom. He did not think he would truly understand it until they left the Keep, for good this time, to start their lives fresh elsewhere. He had a similar reckoning when Rhaenys left the Keep to move to Starfall full-time.

He took a deep breath, held it momentarily, and released, letting go of the fear. With that done, he strode out of the room and instead of going to the room where Dany was waiting, he returned to his chambers and to the trunk beside his night-table. Often he traveled with a personal trunk, locked only by him and no one else able to access it, save Lyanna. She didn’t even need a key, he trusted she could open locks on her own without them. He withdrew the key from the chain on his neck, opening the trunk and reached in, removing the slim black box that sat on the top. He carried it, like one might a baby, across the hall, to where Dany was waiting. He did not knock, pushing the door open, coming to a hard stop, freezing in place, at the sight before him.

_Oh gods._

Rhaegar’s last image of his mother was of Rhaella clutching a young Viserys by the hand, her indigo eyes wide and terrified, fearful for him as he went to confront Robert head-on. She might have known she was with child at the time, but he was not sure. He was hopeful that things could be handled easily, and he promised her he would return and stop his father. His heart ached, wishing he knew what ultimately would be in store. She was dutiful, kind, and gentle, and the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, even after all the horrors she had endured.

He sometimes forgot what she looked like, even with Daenerys around, but standing before him, he thought he could see his mother again, the way Dany’s hair shined pale and silver, shimmering in coils and braids down her back. She wore a pure-white gown with matching fur cloak, the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen snarling on the back in thousands of shiny pearls and silver thread.

The box trembled in his hands and he clutched it tighter. “Gods Daenerys,” he murmured, sweeping her up and down, trying to focus on a part of her that was not positively glowing. She beamed, her violet eyes twinkling, and she clutched her hands atop her stomach, laughing nervously. He moved towards her, tears welling. “You look so much like Mother.”

She sobbed out, reaching for him. He wrapped his free arm around her, squeezing her tight. “Gods Rhae, I wish she was here.”

 _She is._ Of that Rhaegar had no doubt. He swallowed the lump in his throat, pulling back slightly and lifted the box, whispering. “Well you see…she is here.” He twisted the clasp and lifted the top of the box, revealing the crown nestled inside. He could not stop smiling, watching the emotions twist over her face, her fingers touching it gently, awe and wonderment and joy.

The crown that was their mother’s, silver with pearls and rubies, fashioned quite possibly in Old Valyria and within the Targaryen family for centuries, shined as brightly as it did when it was first made. It never tarnished. He lifted it out gently, placing the box on the table and turned her towards the looking glass, watching her face as he set the crown atop her head, held in place by the braids the coiled around the side. It suited her.

He leaned around, brushing a kiss to her cheek and squeezed her shoulders. “There, Princess Daenerys of House Targaryen. You are ready for your wedding.”

Dany touched the crown, careful, fingers shaking. She nodded quickly, her throat bobbing, and she laughed. “Yes. Yes I believe I am.” She offered her arm to him, suddenly quite steady. _She always was so sure of herself._ “Now, King Rhaegar of the Seven Kingdoms, my brother and my father both, please take me to my Prince. My husband.” Her slim brows curved into a point, frowning. “Unless of course he has fainted and needs to be revived. I fear his own thoughts will be the death of him one day.”

 _You do know Jon the best_. He laughed, roaring happily. “Oh Dany, you have no idea how close you are to that.”

She grinned. “I have known him since we were babes. He is mine and I am his.”

Rhaegar kissed her cheek, holding her arm around his and walked her carefully from the Keep and across the yard, through the snow, which crunched under their feet, and fell gently around them, little white pillows that glittered, like the entire godswood had been bathed in jewels. They rounded a corner and came to a stop, everyone standing and waiting, watching them. Candles were lit in every available place, casting everyone’s faces in relief.

He walked her towards the great white weirwood tree, its red leaves blood-red against the white backdrop. The only thing that matched it was Ghost, his ruby eyes focused unblinking on them, standing at his companion’s side. IN front of the tree, Lyanna stood, hands folded in front of her, and Ned to her side.

And then there was Jon, his gray eyes focused entirely on Dany, his mouth open slightly, slack jawed. Rhaegar glanced sideways to his little sister, who was grinning at her love, her gaze solely for him. He turned from her and caught Lyanna’s smile, and it was his turn to grin. He only had eyes for her.

They stopped before them, a few feet back, and out of the corner of his eye, Rhaegar _swore_ he saw Viserys wiping his eyes, but he could not be so sure, it was such a quick movement.

“Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” Lyanna announced, voice high and clear, resonating in the din.

Rhaegar spoke, willing himself not to tremble. He was the bloody King of the Seven Kingdoms, he had given plenty of speeches, and had never been nervous. “Daenerys, of House Targaryen, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, and the blood of Old Valyria, comes here to wed. A woman grown, trueborn, and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?”

He almost had to laugh at that; no one could _claim_ Daenerys. It seemed Jon found it funny as well, his grin pulling wide over his face. He lifted his chin slightly, voice calm: “Jon, of House Targaryen, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, Blood of the First Men and Old Valyria. Who gives her?”

“Rhaegar, of House Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.” He took another breath, smiling down at Dany, who grinned up at him. “I am her brother and her father if not by blood, then by name.”

He let go of her, reluctantly and watched as she took Jon’s hand, both of them stepping towards Lyanna, who turned to Dany. “Princess Daenerys, do you take this man?”

Dany nodded, whispering, eyes only for Jon. “Yes.”

They had decided to change it a little, to add some more, in deference to the Faith of the Seven. Rhaegar stepped back, watching, as Jon agreed to take her as well, and they both held hands before the laughing red face of the weirwood, pledging that they were each other’s for now and for always. He blinked back tears, Lyanna stepping aside and they approached the tree, kneeling before it, to pray and beg the blessing of the gods.

When it was over, he laughed, and clapped, with everyone else, even if that was not necessarily tradition. Ned Stark seemed surprised, but smiled too, even putting his hands together a couple of times. Jon and Dany turned to everyone, embracing and sharing a long kiss. He glanced down at Lyanna, who rose on her toes, kissing him, her breath puffing out in the cold of the night. “I’m proud of you,” she murmured, hand going to his face. It was freezing, her bare skin almost sticking to his.

“For what?” he laughed.

“For not breaking down into tears.”

 _Give it time_ , he almost wanted to say, leaning down instead to kiss her. He held her close, as everyone approached Jon and Dany, giving them hugs and kisses. Even hard Rhaenys was wiping her eyes, ruffling Jon’s hair and making a comment about how now he could finally lose his maidenhead. Rhaegar arched his brows; apparently Rhaenys was not entirely in the know, as Jon and Dany had been sneaking around for years.

Egg came over to him, looking a little nervous. “May I speak with you father? After the feast?”

He frowned, nodding. “Of course. Are you alright?”

“Fine. After the feast.”

Rhaegar waited for him to step away, turning back to Lyanna, who knew everything. “What was that about you think?”

Lyanna wiped her eyes; now she was crying, it seemed her emotions had finally caught up to her. She sniffed, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t know. Gods Rhaegar! Our son is married! What the seven hells?” She began to sob, turning into him, holding him tight. He laughed, nuzzling her dark hair, hugging her close, patting her back in comfort.

The night went on, toasts and dancing and feasting, for hours. The sun was practically up, peeking just above the treeline, when the happy couple finally ran off to their chambers, although Rhaegar wondered how they had waited so long. They were all over each other during the night, and at one point even seemed to slip away. He frowned, thinking back, as Dany had returned with her cloak askew…

“Father?”

Before he could ruminate some more on it, he turned, seeing Egg approaching him, rather slowly, hands in his pockets. The ties of his tunic were undone, and he was as exhausted as most everyone, the last bit of stragglers heading to bed or to start their day in the yard. Lyanna had gone up a few minutes before, claiming she could not drink ale until the morning like she used to. Since she’d drunk a few of the Free Folk under the table, including the giant red-haired one Tormund, Rhaegar begged to disagree.

“Oh yes, you wanted to talk to me.” Rhae nodded towards the stairs. “Come, let’s speak in private.” Even in the cold of Winterfell there were spiders everywhere.

They meandered up the stairs of the ancient keep, to his private study adjacent his chambers. He closed the door and nodded towards the table with some ale on it. “I guess you’re done with that, huh?”

Egg winced. “I don’t know how Jon can stand it.”

“It’s his mother’s blood in him.” He waited patiently, arms crossed over his chest, waiting for Egg to go first.

After a moment, pacing back and forth, Egg spun on his heel, blurting out. “I want to get married.”

Rhaegar’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “You do?” he murmured, keeping his voice even. His heart began to thud again. This was a big moment. Egg was the last of the Targaryens to marry, the most political marriage of them all, as much as Rhaegar wanted him to marry for love, he also understood that soon he might have to intervene. He cocked his head, waiting. Egg said nothing, his pale lavender eyes focused on him, unblinking. “Well?”

“I do not believe you will approve.”

He sighed, walking over to the table. _Maybe I do need an ale._ He poured himself a cup, speaking carefully. “Egg, I know that you cared for Loras, but unfortunately the Faith of the Seven does not allow…”

“No, not him,” Egg said, waving his hand. He scowled. “I’m over him.”

“Oh, well…” He was not sure if there was anyone else Egg had been speaking with. He turned, cocking his head. “Do you know or…I mean, obviously as King I can…”

“Shireen Baratheon.”

The ale he’d sipped came out his nose. He coughed, sputtering. “What?” he wheezed. _Shireen Baratheon!?_ He blinked; ale seemed like it was coming out of his eyes now. _What the fuck do they put in this here?_ He coughed a few more times, blinking hard again. “Um, come again?”

Egg nodded, now resolute. “Yes, I have been corresponding with her. I met her a few years ago, you remember, when Lord Stannis came to the keep.”

“Isn’t she young?”

“A few years younger than me, we’ve been corresponding since I went to Storm’s End to ah…” He shrugged. “End things with Loras. She was understanding, she knew I was upset. We began to talk and well…” He smiled, rather dopey. “She’s really special.”

 _My gods the court will lose their minds._ It wasn’t that Shireen was a wholly inappropriate match for Egg, but…she would become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, that was the thing. Her uncle had instigated a rebellion, resulted in the deaths of hundreds of thousands across Westeros, destruction of entire bloodlines. Almost killed _me_. He reached to his chest, absently, pressing the pained area. It seemed to hurt even at the thought of Robert. Storm’s End and the Stormlands were important, for certain.

There was the issue of numerous bastards of Robert scattered throughout, all of whom trying to fight for claim to Storm’s End. Stannis and Renly Baratheon fought enough about it themselves, for Renly sometimes failed to realize he was the youngest and after the death of Robert, the keep and title fell to Stannis. He tapped his finger to his chin, frowning. “Shireen, didn’t she have…”

“Greyscale.” Egg’s face hardened, angry. “And if it’s looks, Father, I think you of all people would realize that they mean nothing. I love her.”

Rhaegar chuckled. “Well that was not what I was speaking about, but good to know how you feel.” He smiled, soft. He was pleased to hear that Egg was ready to marry. He nodded his head, quiet. “You understand, Egg, that I can give you my blessing, as your father and your king, but this matter will need to be brought to the Small Council?”

Egg sighed, resigned, nodding. “Yes I understand.”

“Well then I am…” He grinned. “I am happy for you Egg.”

Egg beamed. “Me too.”

They spoke for a little longer about it, before retiring. The sun was now almost completely up, Rhaegar did not believe he was going to be able to sleep. He walked down the corridor, shuddering when he passed the closed door of Jon and Dany’s room, hoping that the sounds he heard were of the keep _settling_ as Lyanna liked to assure him. He hurried by, into his rooms and closed the door, leaning heavy against it.

He was not going to be able to sleep. He gazed at Lyanna, who was rubbing oils into her hands, smiling, dazed. “I believe Egg is going to be married next.”

“To Shireen Baratheon?”

He stared at her. “How…”

“Oh Rhaegar, I know everything.” She got up from the chair, grinning at him, walking over and pecking his lips. She tugged his hands, guiding him to the bed. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

“But it is morning I need to…”

“You need to sleep. I will deal with everyone else.”

There came a loud bang from across the hall and what sounded like a wail. Rhaegar’s face paled and he turned to her for guidance. Lyanna smiled, patting his cheek. “It’s the ghost, love. Just the Winterfell ghosts, settling.”

“Oh good. I was afraid it was something else.”

“Like our son and his wife?”

 _His wife, my sister._ “Oh shut up.”

Lyanna laughed, pushing him onto the bed and grabbing for his foot, yanking at his boot. “Come now my king, they’re in love!”

Rhaegar covered his face with a pillow, groaning. “Don’t remind me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: Lyanna muses on if she really is _old_ with the arrival of a new family member.


	8. new generation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna thinks of when she gave birth to Jon, the changes she has seen in her son and his true love, and learns some important information Jon has been keeping, as Dany gives birth at Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go, chapter 8. I hope people read this before they dive into the chapter, but this is a very Lyanna-heavy focus here, not just Jon/Dany. They are obviously the crux of this fic, but this chapter is her looking back and forward, so if that's not your thing, seeing Lyanna's POV, I don't know why you've made it this far but also turn around and leave if you are going to be a cunt about it.
> 
> Also, I have been going through A LOT of real life stuff last few weeks and while yes, I have been posting one-shots here and there, that does not mean I have abandoned a fic. I don't abandon fics and trust me, it would take A LOT to get me to that point, but it may be time between updates. I don't post updates for the sake of it, just so there is something there to read.
> 
> So being excited about an update, fine. Providing support to an author when asking for an update, fine. Consistently demanding in comments, every few days, just because there hasn't been one, asking if something has been abandoned, if it's been orphaned, etc., NOT HELPFUL. Makes me less willing to write because I don't want to validate such demanding behavior. You may not see some of these in comments because on this fic I'm moderating and a lot of them I've been deleting. A couple have been downright cruel.
> 
> GRRM has taken eight fucking years to give the world the sequel to his book and there are authors on this site who are writing fics that are longer and frankly, better written than his stuff, and if they take months to update, FINE. Don't harass them.
> 
> Okay, off my soapbox, PSA done. Enjoy :D

* * *

The screams that filled the Northern keep sent a terrifying chill down Lyanna’s spine.

She felt her empty, dead womb cramp in memory, her body shivering. The sounds were familiar to her, the same ones she made a quarter century ago, thousands of miles away, but in a very similar position. Lying abed, sweating, cramping, and shaking, her body fighting to rid itself of the life it had spent months nurturing and protecting. In a way it was like she didn’t want to let go of him, but she needed him, and he needed her.

The blood that pooled under her terrified her, she held her son for only moments, scared the last images of her life would be of that small wrinkled face, sobbing, with his gray eyes and cap of dark hair. “My son, my son,” she cried, trying to reach for him, but a septa was putting a cloth over her mouth and a Maester was ferreting about around her, telling her it would be alright, she would survive, but she also remembered his pale face, lying to her.

Lyanna thought she had died when her eyes closed. Never to open again, like so many women, whose child would grow without her, and in her son’s case, probably without his father too. She still had no word if Rhaegar survived the Trident. Her son would likely die too, she cried, blood of the dragon, a threat to Robert’s rule.

And her eyes opened, and she was alive, cleaned up, lying in a bed of soft pillows and blankets, her son at her side, and news that Robert had died, and she had been in a forced sleep for weeks. “My sweet Jon,” she cried, holding her child and kissing his head. Her little boy. He looked like her, his little Northern face, and his puckered frown. Stubborn, willful, and wild.

Except her wasn’t, he was calm and sweet and gentle. He behaved like Ned had, growing up. She gazed at him in wonderment, a little miracle, her only child, she would die protecting him, she would never allow harm to befall him.

 _Now here I am_ , she thought, standing on one of the ramparts, snow falling around her, wearing only a thin gray fur cloak, her hands clenched at her sides, eyes fluttering shut with each cry from within the keep. She heard movement behind her, the heavy shuffles of armor, and drag of cloak on the snowy stone. “Ned,” she murmured.

“Sister.”

“How is he?”

“The King is, well…” Ned hesitated and glanced over his shoulder, nervous. She chuckled. He probably didn’t want anyone overhearing him making a comment about the king that could have been construed as inappropriate. “Ah, well, I believe he is as fretful as you.”

“For different reasons, I’m sure.”

“Maester Wolkan…”

“Is one of the best, I know,” she said, glancing sideways, smiling. She knew she had to go to Rhaegar, but the room had become too hot for her. His pacing was driving her mad, back and forth, asking her if it always took this long, was it truly that painful, and questioning whether or not their son should even be in the room, for it was “just not done.”

The king who had attempted to change so many things in Westeros, to propel it forward rather than keep it stagnant, even going so far as to give the smallfolk a voice in their governance and he was claiming it was wrong for their son to witness his child’s birth because “it was just not done.” That statement prompted Lyanna to smack him hard on the shoulder, kick his shin, and stomp out of the room.

Now here she was, with her brother, gazing over the yard at the bustle of the day-to-day operations of Winterfell, while her son fretted inside and the love of his life labored to bring their baby into the world. It felt like a dream, one she wondered if she would wake from, and find that this had all just been a cruel joke.

Ned smiled back at her, clearly something on his mind. She arched a brow, nudging her elbow against his side. It didn’t do much, given that he was wearing his boiled leather gambeson and his heavy cloak. “So why did you come out here to be with me?”

“I cannot keep my sister company?”

“You can, but I sense there is more on your mind Quiet Wolf.”

He did smile again, this time with his sad, heavy eyes peering to her again. He returned them to the yard, quiet. “I remember when you would ride around there, you were always riding. Never settling. It seems ages ago now, when you think where we are today.” He chuckled. “You a Queen. I daresay Father never expected that.”

“No he did not,” she murmured. Neither did she, come to that. She sighed. “But a Queen I am, and my son is a Prince and right now he is with the Princess and…and I feel a bit…”

“Unneeded?”

 _Exactly._ She had been feeling it for some time, after watching her son marry the love of his life. The little girl she had raised as her own, both of them rushing off to have adventures, journeying to the far reaches of Essos and up Beyond the Wall. The reports came sporadically at first, brought by ravens from the Wall and messengers arriving on Dragonstone from the far east. The little boy and girl who pretended to be king and queen were essentially that—they were a king and a queen respectively. They just did not have a kingdom to call their own, but they were ruling in their own right.

She heard of what Daenerys had begun in the Slaver’s Bay cities, the young woman returning a hardened, almost angry creature, disturbed and enraged at what went on overseas. Jon came back from the cold, icy North with the same hardened exterior, no longer living in any sort of blind state about what occurred beyond the borders of their homeland. He despised how the Northerners treated the ones who grew up on the other side of the Wall, who had the same blood of the First Men in their veins, worshipped the same gods, and were vilified “because they were born on the wrong side of the ice.”

It was why they were at Winterfell, Dany birthing her child in the snows and cold of the North instead of the comfortable warmth of the South, because she had gone with Jon to treat with a group of wildlings…Free Folk, Lyanna mentally corrected herself, knowing her son preferred the other term. He always had, since he first fostered at Winterfell and met them. She chuckled at the memory of him in the stables with a Free Folk girl, of the great redheaded man Tormund who was something as close to a best friend Jon had, other than his brother and cousin Robb.

They had their passions, their works, and so did Egg—he was the heir after all and with his marriage to Shireen Baratheon, he had settled comfortably on Dragonstone to assist his father in any way he could. Rhaenys was permanently living in Dorne, with two children of her own now: twins girls, named Elaena and Rhaenyra, for her father and mother. She traveled with them to the east as well and ventured often to the Citadel, to argue with the Maesters in her quest to ensure all girls in Westeros could read, write, and have education.

She gripped her bare hands on the cold, worn wooden railing in front of her. “All of my children are grown,” she murmured. She darted her cool gray gaze to Ned’s sympathetic, but confused one. He wouldn’t understand, as the Lord of Winterfell, he need not be involved in the raising of his children, but he was. He was more than involved than any other noble man save Rhaegar would be, but he didn’t get it. She sighed hard, knocking her knuckles against the railing, a hollow _thunk_. “It was one thing for Rhaenys to marry and have children, she was never mine, not the way Dany is. She was never supposed to be. Egg was Rhaegar’s, his heir and the future king…Jon was my son, I birthed him and almost died doing so, and…and now they are having a baby.”

It was a new beginning, of course, but it marked the end of something. Bittersweet ending, but still an ending. She blinked cold tears from her eyes, ignoring their drip down her flushed cheeks. “I remember when he was so little, I could carry him in the crook of my arm, he barely weighed a thing.” She rubbed her thumb under her nose, hiccupping, feeling foolish. “And I fed Daenerys from my breast when she cried. She needed a mother and I did all I could to be that for her.”

They would go to Rhaegar in the night, seeking his comfort, but he would take them to their bed, where she would cuddle the little dragons close. She closed her eyes briefly, remembering the past, which seemed to have occurred only yesterday. When she opened her eyes, Ned was gazing at her, still concerned and waiting. She smiled again, reaching to pat his hand. “I will be fine Ned, perhaps Rhaegar’s occasional sadness has hit me.”

“It is an auspicious day; your son is becoming a father.”

“Aye.”

Ned wrinkled his nose again, almost about to speak, but he closed his mouth at her eyebrow arch. She would not hear of it, if Jon wanted to be in the birthing chamber he should be. He nodded and chuckled, patting her shoulder. “I will go see to matters in my study, please alert me when there is news. I look forward to meeting my great-niece or nephew.”

She nodded, staring out again, listening to his footsteps fade away. It remained cold, at the top of the rampart, and eventually she left, descending to the lower levels, wondering if maybe she should visit the crypts, pay her respects to her father, Brandon, and her mother. Although it seemed her feet had other plans, taking her beyond the entrance to the crypts.

The godswood called to her, so she went. Lyanna didn't consider herself as religious as Ned or even Benjen, away at the Wall. Seven hells, her son who had not spent longer than a few years at a time growing up in the North was more religious than she. It was not something she considered her emotional release, growing up. That had always been riding, escaping into the Wolfswood. Being one with the gods in other ways than praying to the white tree with its red laughing face. She adopted it as her 'sigil' so t speak, in the tourney where her life changed forever.

She cried when Rhaegar played the harp, Benjen laughing at her. She laughed when Rhaegar approached her in the forest, discarding her mismatched armor and thinking she had been had. She sat in still horror when he passed his wife to give her the crown of blue roses. She came to the godswood to ask for guidance when he sent her a raven, telling her of his love for her. It was the last time she'd come here to really pray. The last time she'd actually been here longer than a moment was for her son’s wedding.

Now she knelt before the tree of her gods, closed her hands, and laid her hands upon the cold bark, sending her request to the gods. _I know I should not ask for anything, for I have not been a faithful follower, but please hear my plea. Keep her safe, Daenerys is good and kind and pure and strong. She needs to survive this. Keep the babe safe and healthy and my son...my son will die if anything happens to them, please, I will do whatever you want. Just let them survive this, let them live and I will do whatever you want. Please I beg you._

The winds shifted, a low howl, like a wolf fluttering the red leaves above her and stinging to the tears on her cold face. She finally opened her eyes, peering up at the dripping scarlet sap, and gasped. "They have to be alright. They must."

A bush rustled behind her and she turned quickly, still lithe on her feet, one fluid movement she stood and stared at the disturbance, her heart racing. It slowed and she clutched at her heart, laughing when Ghost trotted towards her, blending in with the white snow and his eyes as red as the tree leaves above her. "Ghost," she chortled. She knelt, pressing her face into his, whispering, her frozen fingers thawing in his ruff. "Have you news?"

The silent wolf did not speak, only turned his head, and she knew to follow. This strange animal her brother found, alone in the wolfswood, drawn to him by his resemblance to the tree of the Old Gods, knowing he was destined for the young princeling. Ghost had long survived other direwolves. Sansa's Lady had sadly perished when a Lannister knight thought she was a threat, Arya's Nymeria had run off in the Riverlands, accused of biting a Tully. Little Rickon's Shaggydog was too wild for the world and had disappeared into the Wolfswood, likely roaming somewhere near the Wall, last she heard. There was only Robb's Grey Wind who was ever faithful to his master's side and Bran's Summer.

She let Ghost lead her back to the keep, her pace quickening in tandem with her heart, the closer she got to the castle. Smallfolk and castle workers bowed and curtsied as she passed, but she did not address anyone like she normally would, her focus singular. Ghost led her to the private chambers, where she could no longer hear the cries of a woman laboring to bring a babe into the world.

Instead she heard soft cries, of a babe's first breath.

"Oh," she gasped, startled, standing before the door Ghost led her to, which was open. She gazed in, awed, at the sight before her.

Lying propped on pillows and draped lightly with a fur throw, was Dany, her silver hair in a loose braid over her shoulder, her cheeks pink and violet eyes vibrant. She wore a snowy white gown, her hand in her lap and her other lifted slightly to rest upon her husband's knee, for Jon sat at her side on the edge of the bed, almost as exhausted as her, with dark circles under his gray eyes and his dark curls tugged from his face. He also wore a loose tunic and breeches, one foot on the floor and the other drawn beneath him.

In his arms rested a bundle, so tiny, the impatient sounds coming from within the nestle of blankets. Both new mother and father gazed upon the child, faces beatific, they might as well have glowing halos around them, lost in their own world.

On the other side of the bed, the King of the Seven Kingdoms stood and to her shock, he also held a bundle. The new mother turned her face from one to the other, reaching as her brother passed her the tiny thing. "Two?" she gasped, her first words to the new family. She felt faint and Lyanna Stark never felt faint.

"Two," Jon said, grinning, his eyes crinkling. He nodded towards her and stood up, turning the bundle to her. "A girl..." He nodded to the one Dany now held, quiet and a tiny hand curling up from the confines of linen. "And a boy."

Tears fell freely; she did not even care. She reached Rhaegar, a hand going to his chest, gazing up at him wide-eyed. He was crying freely too—it was easy for him to cry, he could be very emotional when the moment called for it and stone cold on the other occasions. This was not his first grandchild, but she knew it was different for him. These were his little sister's children, bound to their family twice, through his sister and his son.

Blood of the First Men and of Old Valyria, she thought, kneeling upon the bed to look at the child in Dany's arms. "Here," the young woman whispered, grinning at her. "You should hold him...he's so tiny..."

Rhaegar kissed her temple, holding her shoulders steady as she held her grandson, peering in his scrunched face. She sobbed. _He has dark hair._ A whorl of black curled over his forehead. She nuzzled his little face, his tiny palm touching her cold cheek, drawn by the chill. He let out a little sound, content, and she opened her eyes at the same time he opened his, barely, dark lashes breaking to flash a pale gray. _Jon's eyes. My eyes._

"He looks like you did," she managed to get out, lifting her face to Jon, who had handed the girl to Dany. She nodded to the other one, voice cracking. "And her?"

"Like her mother in eyes," Jon said, his hand going to the back of Dany's, gazing at her with pure adoration and awe. She beamed up at him. "But dark hair."

She passed the boy to her son, this time taking the little girl. On the edge of the bed, facing Dany, she lightly pushed the blanket aside so she could take her in, the same pale and soft features of her brother, her hair also a dark cap on her head, a little curl peeking off at the side near her ear. There was another cry from her, annoyed and her eyes opened fully this time, gazing up at Lyanna with the most astonishing purple. Deep indigo, with a rim of gray around her pupil. She peered up at Rhaegar. "Your eyes."

"Unfortunately," he tried to joke, but he just sobbed. He gathered himself and turned to his son. "Have you names yet?"

The couple exchanged a look and Dany nodded, voice thick with fatigue. They should not keep her, Lyanna thought, she would need sleep. Soon she would have to feed them. It was clear to her the moment Dany shared with them the news she was with child that she would be different than other noble ladies, just like Rhaenys and just like Lyanna-- no wet nurses, no caregivers to raise her children in lieu of herself. She would nurse them, sit with them all night, and tend to them, even if custom dictated, she should place them with someone else until they were older.

Jon nodded, whispering, leaning against Dany again. "For the boy, we decided to name him Aemon, after Uncle Aemon."

"Oh he would have loved that so much," she breathed, thinking of the elderly Targaryen Maester, who died a few years before, wizened and frail, having lived a full life and passing in his sleep, as everyone should do.

Rhaegar cocked his head, a silver strand escaping from his circlet. He had a funny look on his face. "And the girl?"

Another look, this one a bit nervous. Lyanna tried not to frown; she wondered what their plans were. Something that might anger the rest of the realm? There weren't many Targaryen names that were off limits. She knew that Maegor was something of a non-starter because of his cruelties. Aegon was always a go-to, in both its male and female forms. She knew that as second in line to the throne until Egg had children and in Dany's case, almost tenth or eleventh if they included Rhaenys, the little girl in her arms, and Rhaenys’s daughters in the succession, it would not necessarily matter what they named their child.

Dany spoke, looking straight at her, whispering. "We want to name her Lyella, after our mothers."

There was something inside of Lyanna's heart that exploded in that moment. She wasn't sure what it was, the feeling washing over her in waves, breaking and cresting over her heart. She didn't cry, nor did she make a sound, all she did was hold the little girl a tad tighter, head dropping ever so slightly. It was quite strange, to think there would be someone out there with a name _for me._ Lyanna was a very common Northern name, there were tons of derivations, but to know that her son, and _my daughter_ chose to name their child after her...she nodded and said nothing.

Rhaella would love it too, she thought. The woman who died birthing Dany, who endured so much hardship, who Lyanna hoped to emulate as a queen, dutiful and kind. Unfortunately her temper often got the best of her and there were times were even duty seemed to be too much and she wished she could just abandon it all. Go somewhere in the North or the South and find a little tower or a tiny hut and stay there the rest of her days running in the grass, riding with the wind, and dancing with Rhaegar, not a care or thought in the world.

She guided the little girl to Rhaegar, who took her gently, and kissed her downy hair. "Excuse me," she murmured, unsure what had come over her, and she hurried from the room, breaking into the chamber across the corridor, a hand pressed to her stomach, taking in deep, cold breaths from the fire-less room.

"Muna?"

The quiet call of the Valyrian word brought her back to her body. She turned, seeing a worried Jon in the doorway. She smiled, wavery, and reached for him, embracing her sweet boy—a man long grown now—who held her close, chin in the crook of her shoulder. "I'm fine baby," she whispered, clutching him. His shoulders were broad and strong, from swinging his sword and climbing the Wall and gods knew what else he got up to in Essos with Dany.

"I didn't want to upset you."

"You didn't." She pulled back, holding his face in her hands, smiling at the scratch of the constant beard he had against her palms. Rhaegar's face was almost always baby-skin smooth, like Egg too, but the moment Jon sported whiskers, he never took them off. Sometimes he'd shave a razor close, but that was it. She gazed into his deep gray eyes, swirling pools of concern, and knelt her forehead to his, whispering. "You did not upset me, you honor me. I suppose I was just...overcome. It's...not easy I suppose, knowing my baby boy has babies of his own," she chuckled.

Tears leaked out the corners of her eyes again. He smiled, shaky. "I remember when you were so little. You were so quiet, sometimes I would just hold you for hours and you were awake, not uttering a sound. Those nights when you escaped to be with Rhaegar, just needing one or both of us, but never fussing...I used to wonder how lucky I was, someone like me, who..." She trailed off, chewing her bottom lip. She took a deep breath. "I was foolish, a vain girl with only my thoughts and my hopes and dreams in my mind, not caring at all what happened to anyone else, not realizing what my actions had wrought. The kindling was already there and Rhaegar and I were the flint and the spark...we ignited a rebellion with our selfish behavior and thousands died for it. You came from that, you and Dany both, and now here we are."

There were so many different ways it could have changed. She could have died in that birthing bed, Ned could ahve died searching for her, Rhaegar could have died instead of Robert...maybe Jaime Lannister didn't kill Aerys and Kings Landing burned in wildfire. Maybe Dany would not have grown up with love and affection, or Viserys either. Viserys could have been king. Or Dany a queen. Egg and Rhaenys might have perished too, or one or the other.

It did not bear thinking about, because right now her son and the love his life, they had their children to think about, and all she could do was hope that everything she and Rhaegar had taught them, instilled in them, and prayed for them would come true. "I love you," she whispered, kissing his forehead. She smiled wide. "My little wolf cub."

He rolled his eyes. "Muna..."

She giggled, hugging him again. "My little dragonwolf. You have little dragonwolves of your own now, my sweet boy. It is just...difficult for me to fathom. The little boy who would crawl into Dany's bed when she had dragon dreams."

Jon's eyes crinkled with a smile. "Or crawl into yours with white walker ones."

She nodded, knowing that Rhaegar sometimes wondered if he should not have believed in their dreams more. He was a fervent believer in prophecies and looking to the past to predict the future, and sometimes he dwelled on what his children had seen in their nighttime visions, crying for their love and affection as comfort for whatever they saw. She shrugged it off, claiming it was just stories that sparked their imaginations, but something still nudged her gut, knowing that Jon and Dany spent a lot of time traveling and no doubt had seen things she couldn't imagine.

It was why they were at Winterfell, Daenerys giving birth there instead of in King's Landing. Dany wanted her children to be as close to magic as they could be, and she claimed Winterfell was as close as they could get, and safe for them too. She idly tucked a strand of Jon's hair behind his ear. "Where will you go now?" she wondered. She wanted them to come back to King's Landing, to stay with them in the Red Keep, so she could see her grandchildren every day. Rhaegar did not get to dote upon Rhaenys's little girls. he would with Egg, whenever Egg had an heir, but she wanted that comfort, to see the little ones with her blood grow.

He hesitated and she knew. "You're not coming back?"

Jon shook his head, looking at their joined hands. "No. After some time here, Dany and I will go to Essos. There are things..." He cocked his head, whispering. "There are things that you should see."

"See?"

He hesitated again and then took her hand. Lyanna followed, curious, as he led her back into Dany's bed chambers. Rhaegar had gone, the babies swaddled and tucked beside their mother, who slept peacefully beside them. She frowned when Jon took her to the hearth, where there sat a heavy black chest, with old tarnished fastenings and hinges. There appeared to be the carved symbol of the Targaryens on the lid, and she would have just assumed it to be any other trunk, until Jon knelt and unlatched it, lifting the lid back with a squeak of the weathered wood.

Her eyes widened, staring at the items contained within, nestled among fine silk and velvet. Jon reached into the fire with a long taper and lit it, kneeling and lighting the smaller candles surrounding the objects, so they glowed, heavy jewels in the darkening light of the day and the heat of the hearth. "Jon," she breathed. "Are those..."

"Dragon eggs."

_Oh my gods._

Lyanna fell to her knees and reached in, barely touching the one in the middle, the largest of the three. It was onyx, shimmering with ruby as the light caught it. On its right sat a jade one, with bronze undertones. The one on the left was cream and gold. They were priceless objects. Some suspected that Winterfell housed dragon eggs, deep within its cavernous walls and crypts, from the time when Alysanne Targaryen flew Silverwing North. Either there, or at the Wall, when she met with the Night's Watch and pledged herself to their continuance. She also heard there might still be eggs somewhere in the Red Keep, or perhaps buried in Dragonstone, among its many hot springs, where dragons birthed hundreds of years before.

The egg was hot, despite its petrified state. "Where did you..."

Jon whispered. "Essos. From the Shadowlands beyond Assha'i."

"But how..."

"Dany met a Magister there. He was...unwilling to part with them, but she made him an offer he couldn't refuse."

Lyanna whipped her head u, concerned. "What?"

Jon smirked. He went to another chest, this one at the end of Dany's bed, and lifted it up, after withdrawing a small key from an inside pocket of his trousers and unlocking it. Lyanna had no idea there needed to be so much secrecy surrounding these trunks, but when Jon withdrew another item, she staggered backwards, clutching the stone mantle of the hearth.

It was a scabbard, with a sword thin and small enough for a woman's hand, a ruby encrusted pommel, slightly darkened with age, and dragons snarling along the enclosure. Jon tugged it free, just enough for her to see the bright gleam of Valyrian steel. She knew what it was; Rhaegar had shown her images of it, from paintings in the Red Keep to drawings in tomes from the Citadel. "Dark Sister," Jon confirmed.

"But where did you find it? it was lost!"

"The Wall," he answered. He smiled again. "Blackraven went there with it, where it disappeared. It was part of why I spent so much time there, so much time in the true North with the Free Folk. I don't only want them to settle beyond, in the Gift and in the North, to cease the senseless raiding and killing of us against them and them to us, but I was looking for it. Aemon gave me books and showed me things from the library at Castle Black."

"And Dany can wield her?"

"Of course."

"Of course," Lyanna echoed, smiling at the still sleeping woman, who looked so frail and child-like in her bed, but who upon second glance, you could see was a warrior, her hands callused, and her arms and thighs toned and strong from riding horses and shooting bows. She licked her lips, completely awed at what her son and Dany had been up to these last few years. "And you kept this from us?"

"We do not wish to draw attention."

"But Rhaegar..."

Jon hesitated. He shook his head, quiet. "We don't want him to...to get his mind wrapped around it. You know how he can get Muna, with his books and things."

"Yes, but he should know. A Targaryen with dragon eggs again." The idea was almost too formidable to speak aloud. She glanced at the eggs again. "There are three Targaryen children from Aerys," she murmured. She ticked off her fingers. "Three from Rhaegar...Rhaenys has two, you have two, Viserys has one...if Egg has one...that could mean the possibility of 12 Targaryens who could ride the dragons again."

Her son glanced at the babes nestled with their mother; three little dragons, she thought, all of them. He went to the eggs and knelt, his fingers lightly touching the jade and bronze. "There might be more," he murmured. He turned, gazing to her again, whispering. "That's why we want to go to Essos. To learn and...and maybe find a way to bring them back."

The Tragedy of Summerhall, the birth of her husband in melancholy and sadness, struck her hard. She swallowed her dry throat, taking her son's hands again. "Be very careful," she murmured; she knew what they said of Targaryens, that terrible adage of a coin and madness. It wasn't true. Rhaegar could be hard, cold even, and sad and wane the next, but there was no madness in the Targaryens alive that day. The ones who burned down Summerhall were misguided and misinformed, desperate to bring about their beloved dragons. The one who drank wildfire even more so. There was also all those others, the ones they claimed mad, Rhaenyra because she was a strong and independent woman. Daemon because he took what he wanted when he did. Even Maegor the Cruel, the exact opposite of his kind and dutiful brother.

Her son was not mad, neither was Dany, and nor would her grandchildren follow in those footsteps. They were Targaryens, dragons and also Starks, wolves. She kissed Jon's cheek, squeezing his hand and whispering. "I have no doubt if it were possible, you could do it."

He smiled and nodded. "I know Muna."

Lyanna gazed over her shoulder, seeing one of the babes stir, a tiny shift in the blankets. "Go to your family," she told him, letting him go. She watched him go over to the bed and sit beside Dany, who curved immediately to him. Like they did as babes, she thought, watching, seeing the twins do the same. She left them, undisturbed, and went to her chambers, where Rhaegar was seated in one of the large chairs by the hearth, circlet tossed carelessly onto the bed with his cloak and outer jerkin, a pewter goblet of something dark and brown in his hand.

She might need one of those, she thought, lowering herself into his lap, hugging her arms around his neck. He nuzzled against her, sighing heavily. He was tired. There was so much going on. Iron Islands once again causing chaos along the western shore; Tywin Lannister as old as he was, continuing his machinations, and she knew there were rumors from the Stormlands of a son of Robert Baratheon, one who could rival Stannis and Renly, that some of the lower houses were rallying around, claiming him to be legitimate, a Gendry Waters. Rhaegar was trying to dispel the tension there.

The winds had shifted, the wolves were howling, and for a brief moment she thought she could hear a dragon roar. Lyanna smiled, gazing down at her husband, whispering. "We made a good boy, didn't we?"

He smiled, looking up and nodding, whispering. "Yeah we did."

"And Daenerys is his...match I suppose. In every single way."

Another nod. "They are two sides of a coin," he murmured, watching the flames dance.

She thought of Ghost and of the dragon eggs, nodding idly. "And I think the babes might be just like them."

"A force to be reckoned with?"

"In a way." Little Aemon and Lyella, they would never want for love and home, that was for certain. She laughed softly, head knocking into his again. "Remember when they claimed they would marry? Dany was so certain of it. She said they would have babies. Jon went along with it because I fear he did not want to contradict her."

He chuckled. "Yes, I remember very much."

"They would run through the secret passageways."

"And share the same dreams," he whispered. He reached his free arm over to the table beside him and tugged his harp to his knee. She moved, leaning against the arm of the chair and he unwound himself from around her, beginning to pluck the strings, humming to himself, imagining whatever song was in his head, the tune rather pretty as his long, nimble fingers began to strum the strings.

After a long while, just the fire crackling and the harp playing, Lyanna finally spoke. "That's beautiful," she murmured, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. "What do you call it?"

Rhaegar shrugged. "For the babes. For Daenerys and Jon."

"You should give it a name, when you play it for them, or maybe at a feast to celebrate the births."

He played it for a few moments more and smiled, indigo eyes darkening as he gazed up at her. "A song of ice and fire."

Lyanna grinned. That was accurate she supposed, in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: Rhaegar makes a move that is unheard of; three monarchs rise-- one in the far North, one in the Far East, and one at home.


End file.
